


Murphy's Law

by di0zapeeRc



Series: The Epistemology of Love [2]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Human, Asexual Character, Bisexual Male Character, Canon Non-Binary Character, Established Relationship, Eventual Happy Ending, Graphic Description, Homophobia, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Past Character Death, Recreational Drug Use, Self-Destruction, Smut, Trans Male Character, Transphobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-19 02:41:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13114269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/di0zapeeRc/pseuds/di0zapeeRc
Summary: A year of studying has officially come and gone and Tony decides to invite everyone back home with him to his parents beach house in Malibu, for some much deserved summer frivolity. They've hardly touched down in the US, however, when things start going pear-shaped. Pretty soon, Tony has a tough call to make: Loki or his friends? Even making a choice could lead to catastrophe for everyone. Will Tony be able to find his way out of this one? Will his relationships withstand this? Is he in way over his head? Murphy's law states: whatever can happen, will happen - this includes every bad thing, but also every good thing. How Tony intends to deal with this, is the 2 hours' traffic of our stage!The sequel to Chaos Theory.Expect loads of heartache.





	1. Act One: Nostalgia's Cool, but It Won't Help Me Now

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry this took so long to start. Hope it'll be easier from here on out.

**Scene One**

“This was a bad idea.”

“Did I not tell you multiple times it’s a bad idea?”

“No. When did you say it’d be a bad idea? I don’t remember once when you said th-”

“You literally told me to get the minivan and I said they weren’t all going to fit. I kept asking you about the lugga-”

“None of that was you telling me this is a bad idea,” I hiss.

“Is everything alright? What is a bad idea?” Loki’s voice sounds from behind me.

Before turning to them, I paste a carefree smile on my face. No point in arguing. Bruce and I fucked up and we’re going to have to deal with it.

“Everything’s great! Perfect! He just meant this…shirt…I’m wearing,” I cover quickly. “It doesn’t go with these shorts at all and it’s probably too hot for it back home.”

“I mean, I don’t know why you bother with a shirt at all. It’s your transport we’re taking, and you look better without one, in any case,” they respond and take my hand.

They pull us together, touching our lips together so lightly that every single muscle in my body seizes with anticipation. As usual, their expression is so cool and composed, I’m left wondering if they ever feel half of the want for me that I feel for them. We only had sex for the first time a week ago and that was the last time it happened, too. I reckon it’s a cultural thing, because there were definitely times I caught Loki staring at me like they were picturing me naked, but it never got past kissing since our first time. Their composure is incredible, like it’s been drilled into them from the day they were born.

I’ve also considered that maybe I did something wrong the first time, but when I asked them about it, they were quick to tell me everything’s fine.

_Okay, then._

“You ready to go?” I ask them.

“Yes. Let me just go get my things,” they say and wander back up the path to the Maximoffs’ front door.

Natasha and Clint both head out to the van, carrying most of everyone’s luggage, and looking far more summery than can really be comfortable up here in the freezing mountains. I don’t know that I’ve ever seen Barton in shorts or Romanov in anything but leggings and crop-tops. Right now, she’s wearing a skin-tight black thing that looks a lot like a tank top that she can pull off as a dress because she’s so short. As usual, her gold chain with the arrow charm glints at her throat. Pietro comes sprinting up the path – a grey blur – relieving Loki of their carry-on as he passes them. Steve and Bucky get out of the minivan to help Barton and Romanov who’ve solved my and Bruce’s problem for us: they’re tying the luggage to the roof. Last down the path is Wanda, who is, for once, not donning her goth apparel – at least, not entirely. Instead, she’s wearing this crop-top and short set thing, that looks like both pieces were made from fleece, all in red. Her make-up is minimal, but still all-black, and all her hair is pulled into a perfect, big bun on top of her head. Her platforms and her choker match, both being black velvet.

“Sick shoes,” I say to her.

She looks down at them and then smiles at me.

“Thank you, Tony,” she says, getting into the van.

“You really could take that shirt off, you know,” murmurs Loki when they’re close enough.

“Man, even in this shirt, I won’t be nearly as hot back home as you’ll be in all that black,” I say to them, eyeing their black cotton pants and loose, long-sleeved black shirt.

“I’ve packed a cooler shirt in my carry-on. Should I rather change into that?” they ask, suddenly worried.

“On the plane,” I say and help them into the van.

Then, I swing into the front with Bruce and we’re off to the airstrip.

I flip through Bruce’s tape collection – he’s really sold on the whole vintage concept – and find a Green Day tape in its original casing. I put it in and Steve, Bucky, Nat and Clint all look appreciative. Loki looks curious, Pietro looks confused and Wanda gets her headphones out to listen to music of her own.

“Not to get ahead of myself or anything, but I got you a ‘welcome to the summer’ present,” Bruce says, from the driver’s seat. “Check the glove box.”

I pop it open and out rolls a neat banky of perfectly rolled joints. I give him the side eye and he grins to himself.

“Banner, you really are my best friend. You know that?”

“I’m not going down for that if they catch you holding at customs,” he says.

“And there he is. Welcome back, buddy,” I say, shaking my head and lighting up.

I pass the joint back and Clint goes first. He hands off to Natasha, who puffs and passes to Wanda – who puffs twice. Everyone stares at her and her expressionlessness dissolves into a smile.

“I have this in incense at our place,” she says, holding up the joint. “It helps when it gets bad.”

She hands off to Loki, who looks utterly terrified.

“Is it alright if I do not partake in this particular activity? I have never smoked a day in my life.”

“No pressure, gorgeous, but if you wanted to try it, there’s no judgement here,” I say.

“Except from Tony,” puts in Bruce. “If you so much as cough once, he’ll let you hear it for the rest of the summer.”

I dig my teeth into the insides of cheeks to keep from laughing out loud when Loki’s eyes stretch even bigger.

“You know, you’re a real dick when wanna be,” I say to Bruce.

“Back at you, Stark,” he retaliates.

Loki gives the joint a last wary look before passing it over their shoulder to Bucky. He takes a hefty drag, hands it over Steve to Pietro, forces Steve’s mouth open and exhales into it. Steve, the fucking champ, doesn’t cough even a little. Pietro’s blissed-out exhale turns into a grimace when the two losers start making out like there’s no tomorrow.

By the time we reach the airstrip an hour later (traffic was an absolute bitch), we’d gotten through two joints. Loki still hasn’t tried it, but they’re helping Nat protect Wanda, who is absolutely baked, from herself. Pietro can’t do much from the backseat and it isn’t like Steve and Bucky are giving him much space. Side by side, those two take up the entire backseat by themselves, but Pietro has managed to annexe enough room for his wiry self.

“Mister Stark!” call Jarvis from the cargo hatch of the plane as we drive right into it. “Mister Banner!”

“Jarvis,” greets Bruce. “How was your year?”

“Lovely, sir, thank you. And yours?”

“Life’s a party, J. How’s it going with that business associate of Dad’s?” I ask, jumping out of the van, into the cargo hold.

“I don’t think it’s going to work out, sir. He conveniently forgot to mention he’s married and his husband is rather on the frightening side. Your mother has introduced me to one of her friends who, and I quote, prefers her men “sprightly, but experienced”,” he recounts, smirking slyly.

“Seems he’s got more game than you these days, T,” Bruce throws my way.

“I am a single soul guy now. I’ve been reformed,” I reply, throwing my arms out emphatically. “Speaking of which: gorgeous, can I introduce you to one of my closest friends?”

“I’d be delighted,” Loki replies, turning around from helping Nat get a really stoned Wanda out of the van.

I take their hand and walk them over to Jarvis. Jarvis smiles the smile he usually reserves for Dad’s people from work that he can’t size up immediately.

“Jarvis, this is Loki. We’re together,” I say, lift our clasped hands to my face and kiss theirs.

Loki smiles the bright, carefree smile their friend Hogun once said they never had until they met me. They hold out their other hand to Jarvis.

“For about six months now. A genuine pleasure, sir,” they say.

“A fellow Brit! Also, there is absolutely no need for formalities. I am the help around here,” Jarvis responds.

Loki and I are already laughing at Jarvis’ assessment of Loki being British. I told them they got scary good at that accent Natasha was teaching them. They responded that it’s even starting to bleed over into their Norwegian.

“Did I say something funny?” Jarvis asks, as Bruce passes by with his laptop bag.

Bruce shrugs, but it’s Loki who gets themself under control enough to respond.

“As much as I appreciate the sentiment, I am not British. Natasha has helped me refine my mannerism enough to make my English more understandable. I hail from Norway.”

“Your _mannerism_ is quite _refined_ …?” Jarvis replies, eyes scanning around helplessly. “I thought you from the heart of London.”

“Thank you,” Loki says, scrunching their face disbelievingly before smiling, happy with themself.

They pull me farther into the plane with them, but Jarvis asks me to hang back for a moment. I tell them to go exploring without me and that I’ll meet them inside.

“Sir, as much as I can tell how completely happy you are, I have some questions, if I may be so forward?” Jarvis asks as soon as we’re alone.

“I’d rather you be forward with me than Loki,” I say.

Jarvis nods, looking down at his shoes for a minute. The cargo hold closes as the air marshals prep for our take-off. I steel myself for the questions I know are coming, already planning how best to word my answers.

“Mister Stark, do you love them?” Jarvis asks me.

My mouth drops open for just a second before I compose myself.

“Yes. Yes, Jarvis, I do. I absolutely and entirely do,” I say, stopping myself before I stick him with the same hour-long speech I stuck Banner. I ended up badly quoting poetry that time, but it was kind of okay, because Banner isn’t all that versed, but Jarvis might be and so I’m shutting up.

“I am so happy for you, sir,” he says and throws his arms around me.

I hug him back tightly. I wasn’t consciously aware how much his approval meant to me, but now I know I wouldn’t have known what to do with myself if he didn’t like Loki.

“Now, for the logistics,” he announces. We start moving out of the cargo hold and into the plane’s main cabin. “Are they…are they male, sir?”

“No,” I answer immediately. “No. Loki is non-binary. You were right initially: they/them for pronouns.”

“Noted. Sir, I wasn’t aware you were attracted to… _non_ -women?” he phrases this as a careful question.

“Neither was I. With Loki, though, all my issues about trivialities like gender and image and what my parents would think just became less than irrelevant.”

He nods like he entirely understands, hands in his pockets. We ascend the metal stairs to the cabin’s door. Once there, I punch in the code and the door slides open. I motion for Jarvis to go first. He smiles gratefully and steps inside.

I kick off my shoes to walk barefoot on the ridiculously soft carpet. Remembering what Loki kept saying earlier, I unbutton my shirt and drop that on top of my shoes.

“Comfortable, sir?”

“Finally.”

 

**Scene Two**

“Loki?” I say, slipping into the overnight room they’re changing in.

I caught sight of their back as they pulled their t-shirt over their head. It’s a lot tighter than the previous one and I take in their lithe, dancer’s physique appreciatively.

“Yes?” they respond, turning to meet my eyes.

“What happened to your back?” I ask, frowning and going closer.

Their face immediately closes off, but only for a split second before their infallible composure is back to make me question my sanity.

“Just some scratches from my childhood. Thor and our friends were always very fond of roughhousing.” Their voice sounds slightly double-timbered, like it always does when they talk about their brother.

“Those didn’t just look like some scratches, gorgeous. They looked pretty bad,” I say, reaching around to feel through their shirt.

They shrug out from under my touch. Their eyes drain of light and they go away – somewhere where everything is cold and pitch black. Then, they close their eyes for a moment. A single tear rolls down their face, but they swipe it away quickly.

Their voice is entirely level and inflectionless when they say: “Shall we go see what the others are doing?”

Feeling creeped out of my skin, I nod and let them pass.

Back in the main cabin, we find Pietro in a headlock – Natasha’s, to be exact. He says uncle a couple times, looking slightly blue, and she lets him go. Bruce and Wanda are having a heated discussion about something, but neither of them look murderous yet. So, I decide not to step in right away. The corncob princess and his golden-ear boy – or, as they’re better known, Steve and Bucky – have Jarvis wrapped in some or other story.

When Nat spots them, she beelines straight for Loki and wraps them in her jean jacket before dropping to her haunches and cuffing their fitted cotton pants.

“ _Kokhannya_ , come sit here. I will braid your hair for you,” says Wanda.

I let them go and they sit cross-legged at Wanda’s feet, leaning against her long legs. Her fingers thread expertly through Loki’s long, inky hair like raven feathers.

“Anyone seen Barton?” I ask the room.

“Snagged himself the co-pilot’s chair. He looks so happy up there, I had to leave him,” says Bucky, from Steve’s lap.

I nod and head over to sit next to Loki.

I take their hand, just as Wanda finishes giving them box braids. They lean over, onto my shoulder, and I kiss the top of their head.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

They nuzzle into my neck.

“Tell me about engines again,” they whisper back. “I love how you tell it.”

I smile into their hair. They throw their legs over mine.

“Any specific engine you’d like to hear about?” I ask.

“Submarine engines?”

“You got it, babe.”

They pass out about ten minutes in and I fall asleep not long after that, midsentence.

I dream about Malibu, where we’re headed. I was a rambunctious teenager, with a self-destructive taste for danger. I used to invite audiences of people to watch me climb down the cliff-face to our private beach, or skate the empty pool until I fell my hands and knees and elbows bloody. I’d probably have killed myself by now, if it weren’t for Banner and Jarvis. If it weren’t for them keeping my self-destruction in check, I don’t know where I’d be. Probably shark food by now.

There was this one time, I’d been drunk out of my mind, free-climbing down the cliff-face with a beer helmet on and a joint in my mouth. It’d been hellish weather – like, thunderous and stormy and inching on a hurricane. I was halfway down to the beach when a particularly bad gust had knocked me forward into the rock wall and winded me. That, plus the drunkenness and being high, caused me to lose consciousness for a moment. I don’t know how long it was, but when I came to, I was falling. Out of nowhere, my self-built drone appeared and caught me. It wasn’t really strong enough to carry my weight, but it got me back to the rock wall, where I could wait for Jarvis to take the chopper and come get me. The rescue itself almost cost Jarvis his life, but his general badassery saved him there. I still have nightmares about that night and it’s been almost three years.

Bruce had been so violently angry that time that he’d put me in the hospital with near fatal injuries – after I came away from the initial incident unscathed. He was in hospital, too, sick for days. Eventually, they had to put him under for at least a week until his hormone levels evened out. I made them put us in the same ward, so I could be there when he woke up or needed anything. He’d hated himself for what he did to me, but he couldn’t help it. He’s been on meds ever since, but he’s still never forgiven himself. If anyone else has had a tough time, it’s Bruce Banner.

“Tony?” comes a whisper in the dark.

“Loki?”

“Yes. Are you awake?” they ask.

“Yep. Is it dark out?” I ask, groggily.

I know I hadn’t actually been asleep, but my body seems to have shut down without me. The life of an insomniac.

“Yes. I believe everyone else is asleep. I am stiff from sitting on the floor,” they say and sit up, stretching.

I get up and hold out my hand for them, careful to make as little noise as possible in the dark cabin. Their hand finds mine easily and I pull them to their feet.

“Want to go back to the overnight room?” I ask, near their ear.

“Oh, yes. A bed sounds lovely.”

We pad as quietly as we can towards the back of the cabin, with Loki leading. At some point, they stop dead and I walk into their back.

“Sorry,” they say, turning their head in my direction. They turn back to face ahead again, but before we move, they flick their wrist and their phone comes sailing out of their pocket and into their hand. With their illuminated screen, they shine some light into the dark in front of them. Standing there, eyes wide and unseeing, is Barton. He looks like a reanimated corpse.

“Somnambulist,” mutters Loki. They edge past Barton, careful not to disturb him.

Back in the room, finally, I clap twice and light washes over us.

“Yo, what the fuck?” says a disturbed Bucky, thickly.

He and Steve are both knotted in the covers, butt-naked and clearly tousled from more than sleep. Loki stands very still, eyes flitting from Steve’s ripped chest to Bucky’s incredibly muscled back. Both of them look more like line-backers than lacrosse players, but the university doesn’t offer football. As I watch, Loki’s head tilts calculatingly, their eyes raking down to where the sheets cut off Steve’s torso just above the naval.

“Okay. Clearly this was a bust. I’m making you two replace my mom’s silk sheets,” I say as I pull Loki back into the outer cabin, turning the lights back off and shutting the door behind us.

“I have an idea,” Loki whispers. “How do we find to the cargo hold?”

I lead the way this time, not needing any light, because I know the plane by heart. Once we reach the bottom of the metal stairs, Loki pulls me towards Bruce’s van. Our feet make muffled metallic thumps on the floor in here, which echo slightly. At some point, it sounds like there’s someone in here with us. Knowing the plane by heart becomes pointless, then, because I’m suddenly hyper aware of all the places a fucking murderer could be hiding. We reach the van soon enough, though.

Loki unlatches the door and slides it open. We are greeted by a screech and a “get out!”. So, we found Nat and Wanda. Great.

“So, if no one’s in the cabin, does that mean we can spread out there?” I ask the darkness.

“Speedy, Bruce and Clint are asleep in the cabin,” says Nat, followed by the sound of a zippo’s flint striking itself to life. The flame appears and for a moment her pouty lips are visible, around the glowing cherry of a cigarette. Then she closes her lighter and lies back on the seat, Wanda sitting at her feet in lacey black lingerie, entirely unperturbed.

“Actually, Clint is possibly undertaking a dreamscape voyage of his own devising,” Loki says, leaning against the frame of the van’s open door.

“Fuck,” Nat says. “Can we get some light in here? And some privacy?”

I clap my hands twice and the lights go on. Turning my back quickly, I only have a chance to see a scowl on Natasha’s face as she starts pulling her clothes back on. Loki puts their hands over their eyes, but Wanda laughs and says it’s fine. They have nothing to be embarrassed or conservative about.

I mean, and I do? I’ve seen plenty of naked girls before. I decide not to press this point.

Nat pushes past me, padding barefoot in nothing but her dress from earlier. She kills the half-smoked cigarette and tosses it aside. I’m pretty sure she’s not even wearing underwear.

Maybe this is why I had to turn my back.

I follow her to let her back into the cabin, leaving Loki with Wanda. Before I run to catch up, I mention that Bruce keeps blankets in the van’s trunk. The last thing I hear is Wanda asking Loki to come sit with her in the backseat.

Back in the cabin, we’re just in time, as Barton is trying to open a porthole. Pietro is trying to stop him, but nothing he’s doing is working. Natasha eases herself between Pietro and The Walking Dead and puts her hand on Barton’s arm. Then, she starts singing. The tune is entirely unfamiliar and it sounds like she’s singing in Russian. Slowly, Barton stops fidgeting with the window and relaxes more and more into Nat’s touch. She gets him into a seat and sits down next to him, still singing. I’ll admit: the song is pretty fucking creepy. It seems to be working, though. Eventually, after she’s sung through it, like, five times, his eyes close and he goes slack in his chair. She keeps singing, running through it twice more. When he’s snoring comfortably, she wakes him up gently. His eyes open very slowly and he turns in his seat to rest his head on her shoulder.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” she murmurs to him. “You okay?”

She reaches for his hand. His fingers close comfortably around hers.

“’M fy,” he manages with his face smooshed into her shoulder. “Erthin kay wi’ oo?”

“Just fine. Tell me, big guy, did you have a nightmare?” she asks gently.

This makes him sit up, immediately, entirely alert. His eyes scan the now illuminated cabin. Seeming to find no cause for alarm, he relaxes back into Nat and drags a hand down his face.

“Did I go on walkabout?” he asks, his eyes closed against the fluorescent glare of the cabin’s lights.

“Yeah. Everything’s fine. You just scared Pietro, Tony and Loki. It’s all okay, though,” Nat soothes, playing with his hair.

“My meds are in our carry-on. I forgot to take them. Did you take yours? Your vitamins?” he asks, turning to meet her eyes. Their faces are about an inch apart, but the intimacy is so comfortable that it could only be between siblings.

Sometimes, I wish I had a brother. Banner is like family to me, but he prefers as little intimacy as possible. I think he held my hand once to comfort me, and even that didn’t last very long.

“I had a lot of weed, so I figured the meds were overkill. I took my vitamins, though. Weed is a huge catalyst for active REM sleep, so you should probably take yours. I’ll get them for you, okay? Do you want some tea?” she asks, getting to her feet.

“Please.”

While she bustles down the aisle to the kitchen, I pull Pietro away and back to the van. On the way, I catch sight of a slowly rising Banner and take him with us. Back at the van, Wanda and Loki are wrapped in the same blanket, their arm around her nearly bare shoulders, and her head on their chest. Both of them are sound asleep. We all make ourselves comfortable and lose consciousness one by one.

 

**Scene Three**

LAX is a nightmare. As much as I would’ve liked for us just to go to our private airstrip, we HAVE to go through customs, since a lot of us aren’t US citizens and the law requires notice of any foreigners entering the country.

One of the air marshals drive Bruce’s van to the front of the building to wait for us. Everyone looks a little worse for wear – except for Steve and Bucky. The two of them look like they spent the evening in a fancy hotel, eating caviar and giving each other champagne-flavored blowjobs. I want to punch Steve Rogers in this face.

Loki is dozing on my shoulder when we line up to go through customs. They smell like Nat’s menthols and Wanda’s perfume, but they’re wearing my hoodie and their hair is sleep-tousled and their eye-makeup is raccoon smudged. They’ve never been more beautiful. I could take them right here.

“Miss, we’re going to need you to come with us,” a customs officer says to Nat, his eyes on the computer screen behind his desk.

“Is there a problem, officer?” she asks, calm and genuinely confused.

“Just something we have to clear up with the Russian Embassy. I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding,” the officer says, smiling at her reassuringly.

“But I’m here with my friends. We’ve been flying for almost 12 hours. I’m sure they’d all just like to go home and crash. I don’t want them to have to wait for me,” she says, frowning empathetically.

“No worries, Nat. We don’t mind waiting. Is there anything I can do to help, sir?” I ask the officer.

Loki is still clinging to my hand, but upright for all intents and purposes. They look like a good wind could best them, at this point.

“Who are you, son?” the officer wants to know.

“Tony Stark, sir. You may have heard of my father? Nat and I study together and she’s here to spend the summer with me and our friends. What is the nature of her detainment?” I ask.

At ‘detainment’, Wanda walks closer and Loki wakes up all the way.

“No detainment. We only got a security notification when we entered her passport number into the system. We just have to clear it with the Russian Embassy, because, I mean, clearly they have the wrong girl. There’s nothing Russian about her. Red-blooded American all the way, am I right?” he says.

Wanda pulls Natasha to her and the two of them converse quietly in Ukrainian for a moment. They kiss and then Nat turns back to the officer, smiling her usual unfaltering put-together smile. She and Loki could put out YouTube tutorials on being utterly cool in the face of overwhelming anxiety.

“Red-blooded American,” she says and marches down a service corridor off the customs desk, past the officer, who stares after her like she just sprouted a tail.

So, this is how we end up sitting at an airport McDonald’s for four hours, until Barton and I have had just about enough and go to find her. Loki stays to keep Wanda calm and kisses my cheek before I leave. We march down that service corridor much like Nat, but are met by security. Barton responds by planting himself where he stands and declaring that he isn’t leaving without Natasha. I try to bargain.

“We were told it was a system error. How long can that possibly take to resolve? If your system is giving you shit, I’m sure I can take a look at it for you. Maybe you just need an upgrade, in which case I’m available for hire. You probably can’t afford me, but I’m sure we can come to some sort of agreement.”

“I’d shut that smart mouth of yours, if I were you,” the one guy threatens.

“See, I don’t respond well to threats,” I say.

“Neither do I,” adds Barton, biceps bulging threateningly on either side of his broad chest.

“Okay, boys. Why don’t we cool it?” pipes up – Steve Rogers, himself.

“Cap, now is not the time,” I turn to him and say.

“Yeah? What if I told you they’re detaining her illegally? If she isn’t in any kind of trouble, then they aren’t allowed to keep her. So, I think we need some information, or we could sue for damages,” he says, amiably, to the security guys, giving them one of his dazzling, corncob princess smiles.

“And who, exactly, are you?” the mouthy security guy asks.

Steve steps through, between Barton and I, and levels with the guy. He shrinks back a little, because Steve has at least four inches on him – and I’m not talking height, though that too. Also, at least 60 pounds in muscle.

“Steven Rogers, lacrosse captain and criminal law graduate. I’ve also heard I have a mean right cross. Can we see our friend?” he asks, still exuding that same amiable air.

I can’t tell if I’m scared of him right now or if I’m suddenly painfully aware of what Bucky sees in him.

“T-this way,” the mouthy guy says and leads us into a room to our right.

There, through one-way glass, we see her sitting at a metal table across from a man in a cheap suit, who is pacing up and down and gesturing wildly. As we watch, he shoves his chair at the wall, but Nat doesn’t even flinch. She leans forward and says something to him, her face entirely expressionless. Steve disappears into a smaller, dark corridor leading off the room we’re in. A moment later, the door to the interrogation room opens behind the guy.

Thinking fast, I spot a switch to the right of the glass and flick it up.

“I’m here to represent Ms. Romanov,” Steve says. “On what grounds are you detaining her? We were lead to believe it was just a system error.”

“Look, Ken doll, why don’t you leave this to the grown-ups? Ms. Romanov and I are just clearing up some stuff. Nothing you need concern yourself with,” the guy in the cheap suit answers in an equally cheap accent.

“Nat?” Steve says, eyes steadily on hers.

“Apparently, going to school in Switzerland violates the conditions of my witness protection. I wasn’t aware that when Russia kicked me out, that meant I could never leave America,” she says, leaning back in her chair and folding her arms in front of her chest. Her glasses are on the table and her eyes look slightly unfocused, but I can’t blame her for wanting to see as little of her interrogator as possible.

“Was that not communicated to you?” Steve asks, hands in the pockets of his pastel pink golf shorts. “Also, did you not spend Christmas with Clint’s family?”

“ _Our_ family,” she amends, “and yes – at our place at school. They wanted to see the campus.” She then looks straight at the other guy. “Also, not once did anyone tell me I couldn’t leave the US. I was banned from ever crossing the Russian border or speaking to my family again, but no one told me I was actually the one exiled. I was told it was for my protection. Now, this fuck is saying I have to go back to Russia to be locked up. I have no idea what he’s talking about and I’m NOT going back to the frigid hellhole.”

“Does she have US citizenship?” Steve asks the guy.

“She does, b–”

“Then, should you not be offering her sanctuary, considering she was here in the first place under witness protection?” he continues.

“Yes, we should, b–”

“But what? If she was not told she wasn’t allowed to leave America’s borders and she has US citizenship and she is now in possible mortal danger, your job is to keep her safe. No buts,” Steve finishes.

“But we cannot afford an incident with Russia. No one person is worth damaging the already frail international ties we have with them. If they want her back, we give her to them. No buts – and no back talk,” the guy counters.

“Read my lips, you washed up, gutless pervert: I. Am. Not. Going. Back. To. Russia. Are you following, or do I need to repeat that in a different language? You have about 20 other options,” she says, getting to her feet and putting her glasses back on. She takes them off again to clean them, frowning at the smudged lenses.

“Well, I’m not losing my damn job! Not because of some snotty little bitch like you!” he retaliates.

Steve has him shoved up against the wall in less than a second.

“Now, I think you owe the lady an apology,” he says, the amiability finally dropping from his voice.

“Steve,” says Nat, warningly.

He drops the guy and turns his head slightly in Nat’s direction.

“Sorry,” he says, taking a step back.

Nat then takes his place and the guy is back to being shoved against the wall.

“I think you owe me an apology,” Nat says, sounding slightly amused.

Steve smiles at his flipflops, hands back in his pockets.

“You think I’m scared of you? I’m more scared of the Russians. Have you ever been interrogated by one them?” the guy asks.

In a flash, the guy is doubling over in pain, blood gushing from his nose. Nat grumbles something in Russian and spits at him.

“Did your time with them go a little something like that?” Steve asks the guy as they leave the room.

The guy stays down, having sunk to the floor, hands clasped over his groin.

“Nat?” Barton says, when they rejoin us.

“Clint!” she says and rushes into his arms. They hug tightly and he kisses her temple.

“Natasha Romanov, I knew you were a badass, but that was downright scary,” I say. Turning to Steve, I ask, “Can we keep her? Please?”

“I feel like saying no could be lethal,” Steve responds, looking proudly at Nat.

“Damn straight, Rogers,” she says, pulling her dress down a little and adjusting her jacket. “Is Wanda okay? Where are the others?”

“At McD’s. I got your favorite. It’s with Pietro in our carry-on,” says Clint, throwing an arm around her shoulders as we all head back.

“There is only one thing better than one Big Mac,” she says.

“Two Big Macs?” I venture.

“And an Oreo McFlurry to dip my fries in,” she finishes.

“That is possibly the most disgusting thing I’ve ever heard,” Steve puts in.

“Watch it, Rogers.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

By the time Bruce’s van pulls up in front of the house, we’re all so tired that we leave our luggage strapped to the roof and just head inside to find beds. Jarvis makes quick work of showing everyone to their rooms, but I take Loki by the hand and lead them to mine. They immediately start to strip until they’re in nothing but undies and their t-shirt. I do the same, except I dump my shirt, too.

“Promise me no more excitement this summer?” they ask, coming over and pulling me to them.

“Promise,” I say against their mouth as we kiss.


	2. Act Two: 10 880 Malibu Point, 90265

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!
> 
> TW//
> 
> Violence  
> Mentions of Mental Illness  
> Suicidal urges  
> Fire  
> Alcohol  
> Sex  
> References to slurs

**Scene One**

Morning greets us with the smell of waffles and coffee. I open my eyes to find Jarvis standing beside my bed, a tray in his hands and a smile on his face. To my right, Loki is still sound asleep, their back rising and falling with each silent breath and their hair splayed out over their face.

“Just leave it on the nightstand,” I mouth to Jarvis and gesture.

He nods, his eyes lingering on Loki another moment before he obliges.

He makes to leave after setting down breakfast, but I grab his summer-blazered arm and pull him in to ask quietly: “Are the others awake yet?”

“I’ve taken everyone breakfast. Misters Barton and Maximoff spent the evening with Mister Banner in his room, which he was not particularly fond of, but he lightened up with waffles. I know they’re his favorite,” Jarvis reports.

“Thanks, buddy. I’ll make lunch later,” I say, letting him go.

As the door shuts quietly behind Jarvis, Loki pushes themself up drowsily. They take a few deep breaths before turning onto their back and shaking their hair out of their face.

“Do I smell waffles?” they ask, their voice creaky from sleep.

It’s so fucking sexy, I have to pinch myself hard to keep it in my pants.

“Jarvis made everyone some and brought us breakfast in bed. They’re Banner’s favorite,” I say and reach for our plates.

They sit up and pull the covers over their legs to place the hot plate on. I drown their waffles in syrup and they scoop the ice-cream on the side over the golden liquid. I hand them a mug of coffee, black like they like it. The waffles go fast, around Loki’s never-ending stream of questions about just about everything.

“So, Jarvis, is he your butler?” they ask, shoving a forkful of waffle into their mouth.

“Don’t let him hear you saying that. He’s the family’s caregiver. He’s here for anything and everything we may need, but not to wait on us hand and foot. That’s what we have staff for. As much as he calls himself the help, he’s really not. I grew up with him. He’s been more of a dad to me than Howard,” I explain. It’d become our way of referring to our parents, because they didn’t act enough like parents to justify “mom” and “dad”.

“No disrespect intended. At home, our staff are coveted for the service they provide for us. We are generations of wealth and lavish circumstance, therefore none of us really know the first thing about home maintenance and the cleaning of crockery and clothes. They do what we cannot, thus they are invaluable,” Loki explains in between sucking syrup off their fingers.

“If it’d been up to Howard and Maria, I wouldn’t know the first thing about taking care of myself, either. They wrapped me in cotton my entire life. I couldn’t take it anymore. That’s when Jarvis really stepped in. Taught me to cook, get stains out of expensive shirts, sweet talk my way out of anything and the subtle art of telling people exactly what they want to hear – without screwing yourself over in the process.”

“‘Silver-tongue’,” they say, wistfully.

“Exactly,” I say, but I’m not sure if they even hear me.

“And this house? Is this your parents’ home?” they ask after shaking their head lightly.

“Yes and no,” I answer, hesitantly. “This is our vacation home? We’re only here for the holidays. During the year, they live in the mansion in New York. They are joining us, though. Somewhere mid-summer.”

They choke on their coffee. Spluttering, they turn to me, eyes streaming.

“You may have neglected to share that tidbit,” they say, sounding slightly strangled.

“Is it a big deal?” I ask, reaching out to rub their back. They shrug away, unconsciously. I drop my hand and take a swig of my too strong, too sweet coffee, trying not to feel offended.

“Quite, dear. They might be lousy at it, but they remain your parents. I would at least like to attempt a good impression.”

“They won’t pay you any mind, gorgeous. Fuck knows, they even try to forget I exist half the time,” I try to comfort.

“I do not believe I even have neater attire for such an occasion,” the say, looking up and staring blindly in sudden, awful realization.

I sigh. They look at me questioningly.

“You’ll be okay. They’ll love you,” I say.

I give them a last reassuring smile and then get up. I put my plate back on the tray Jarvis brought in and head for my en suite. Behind me, I hear them follow me. I find myself in front of the mirror, which can only mean one thing: I’ve fucked up again. Somehow, my subconscious always brings me to one, like my brain is going: “You see that? That’s what a fuck up looks like.” Like I don’t know.

“Darling, I’m sorry,” Loki says, running their hands down my bare arms from behind.

They rest their chin on my head. The height difference is staggering. Fucking Norwegians. I recall what they told me once about ‘Norse perfection’. I know Loki doesn’t think it of themself, but Thor was by far not the beautiful one between the two of them. In fact, the two of them are incomparable: Thor was the sun and the summer and clear, boundless, crystalline blue skies – while Loki is the monochrome of a forest in deep winter, covered in snow with black, skeletal trees reaching for an equally white, austere sky; their eyes are frozen mountain streams, sometimes thawing to run greenly and break the stark black and white of their features. Thor was the sound of waves breaking on the shore during hightide, and Loki is the quiet rustle of snow falling from a bowed branch, though sometimes that snow can be an avalanche. I’ve only ever seen tiny snatches of this, but I don’t doubt they can be just as deadly and terrifying.

“No. I am. I was being my usual dismissive, dickish self. You just want to make a good impression and I appreciate that. I should’ve told you all they were coming. I guess we can head into the city before then for some shopping. Sound good?” I offer.

They turn me around and pull me to them, fingers digging into my hips. Letting their reserve slip a little, they kiss me with enough ferocity to make my head spin entirely out of control – like, I actually come away super dizzy.

“You’re my favorite,” they murmur, eyes closed, our foreheads pressed together. They smile before pulling away a little to meet my eyes.

 _I love you_ , I want to say, but instead what comes out is, “And you’re mine, beautiful.”

They kiss me like that again. This time, I seize my chance to pull them against me and slip my hands under their shirt. They deepen the kiss and my knees buckle with the force of it. They trace the line of my bottom lip with their tongue, making my lips part automatically. I feel like I drink them in when their tongue goes in search of mine. Their hands come up to knot in my hair, while my fingers explore the taut muscle of their stomach. My teeth graze their bottom lip and they gasp against me. I wrap my arms around them, their shirt pulled up to their chest.

Then, they’re pulling away, gently, but firmly, pushing my arms back down to my sides. I close my eyes, breathing hard in equal parts wanting and frustration.

“Loki,” I say, quietly.

“Not now,” they say and leave the bathroom, having pulled their shirt back down.

“But you weren’t wearing a shirt that night in your room. I saw all of you. You didn’t seem to have these reservations then,” I call after them.

They walk purposefully back into the bathroom. In my mind, I can hear the avalanche starting.

“I said, not now. Can you respect that, or am I on the next flight back to Europe?” they say, their eyes freezing me where I stand. No wonder they get on so well with Wanda – they have the eyes in common.

“You were the one who said you wanted us to get to know each other. You were pissed that I wasn’t giving you a chance to share yourself with me the way I was with you. Now you have that chance and you’re insistent on keeping secrets,” I counter.

At that, their regal arrogance – that I almost never see, because they never cared for how they were raised – changes everything about them. They look down at me like I’m some hobo begging for a light to smoke some butt they found that wasn’t crushed.

“All of us do not have your prolific manner with words and secrets. My history is not for you to browse through while you sip a Red Bull on a break in the robotics laboratory. I will tell you when I am ready – and not a moment sooner. So, I reiterate: can you respect that, or am I calling a taxi?”

Their features are cut from marble, their jaw sharp enough to cut diamonds. Even the remnants of smeared makeup around their eyes makes them seem that much more intimidating. Their arms are crossed in front of their wide chest and their shoulders are set. Loki is looming – yes, looming – over me.

Knowing when I’m beat, I let all the angry air out of me and opt for the truth instead of a counter-argument. I don’t know what it is about them that makes me react so rationally when all I really want to do is rage.

“I just keep feeling like I’m running into the same brick wall. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or hurt you, and I understand that there are some things that can be incredibly difficult to open up about, but I don’t want you to feel like you have to keep anything from me. You have changed my life, Loki. Utterly and completely for the better. I just want to be at least half of that for you.”

Just like that, their guard drops. The avalanche comes to a halt before the town is taken out. They drop their arms and the regality disappears instantaneously. Poster child for composure, as always.

“It _is_ …difficult,” they start. “I am not strong enough yet. It has always been my cross to bear alone and I could do it, because I had Thor on my side. Then we grew up and our paths diverged and I learnt ways and means around that burden. The more I came into my own, however, I realized I was going to have to be willing to take up that burden again, if I am to be entirely myself. This time, however, I did not have Thor. For the longest time, I was entirely alone. Then I met you and the others and I felt I have found a family where blood does not stand in the way of love. I still did not have my brother – until it was too late. Now, I just blame myself and I cannot stop.”

But they stop there, before, I reckon, the tears start. I want to go to them, but the distance between us then seems necessary and not separating.

“I feel the same about you,” I say, instead.

Their eyes find mine in a question.

“You are my family, Loki. I’m yours, no matter what. I promise you that,” I vow.

Then they wrap me up in a tight, warm, safe embrace. Hesitantly, I hug them back. They stiffen slightly against me, but relax when my arms go all the way around.

“Mom? Dad? Can we go outside and play yet?” calls Steve from my room.

We leave the bathroom together.

“Have you and the others finished breakfast?” asks Loki.

“Yes, Mom. Bucky had a little too much ice-cream, but I think he’ll be okay,” Steve reports.

“Then, I don’t see why not,” I say, grabbing the tray and following Steve into the house.

 

**Scene Two**

In the living room, we find Wanda, Natasha and Bruce all lined up on their mats, doing yoga. Bruce is leading, but all three of them look like old hands. Jarvis is watching from one of the couches. Behind me and Steve, Loki catches up, having hung back to slip on their pants from yesterday. I spaced and am still in only underwear.

“Looking good, Banner!” I call, as they all lift into a particularly difficult-looking handstand position.

“Care to join us?” he calls back.

“May I?” Loki asks, quietly, at my side.

“‘Course. We have more mats in the gym, I think,” I say. “I’ll show you.”

Then, we follow Steve down to the gym. Howard had it built underground, so he could run himself unconscious without bothering anybody or breaking any marine laws. It’s huge, with an Olympic-sized track installed on a ramp near the ceiling. If you walk the length of the room and slip through a door in the back mirror, you reach the Olympic-sized swimming pool that Howard also likes taking about a hundred laps in every morning. It’s in the machinery area that we find Bucky and Barton on weights, and Pietro outpacing a treadmill.

“ _Shmatochok der’mo!_ ” Pietro yells and hops off. “Can this thing not go any faster?”

“I don’t think they make treadmills that fast,” I say, “but you’re free to use the track.”

I point it out to him and his eyes, identical to his sister’s, light up. I explain to him how to get there and also about how the stereo system works. Then, I get Loki a yoga mat and ask if they can find their own way back. They say they can, so I head for the locker room to find some gym clothes.

I won’t lie: feeling some decent strain on my muscles is near orgasmic. I haven’t been able to span out this much since last summer. The campus gym is always overcrowded and I am always too busy to go during the quiet times. Barton sees me do a few moves and then stands up from the weights to spar with me. The music helps us find a good rhythm, even though our fighting styles are vastly different. He’s more of a krav maga type and he’s super efficient, but not very flexible. I’ve been doing mixed martial arts since I was fifteen. Usually, Jarvis or Banner spars with me, but since they’re both currently occupied, and he looks so cute flat on his back on the floor, Barton’ll do.

“This has gotta be some kind of cheating,” he says, on his back for the fifth time.

“Clint, you’re overthinking it,” Steve calls, getting off the weights machine. “C’mon, Buck. Let’s show these chumps how it’s done.”

Bucky smirks at him and they both head over to us on the raised floor by the door.

“Don’t try to anticipate his moves, look at his face. He’s goading you and you’re missing it, because you’re too busy trying to see what’s coming three moves in advance,” Steve explains.

He advances on Bucky, who leads him back to the wall. Then, Bucky suddenly drops away and tries to kick Steve’s legs out from under him, but Steve jumps over him. That’s when Bucky does a mid-air leg rotation, catching Steve unawares, and causing him to collapse heavily on top of Bucky. They kiss, but get back to their feet again quickly. Then I get a stinging pain in the back of my head.

“Let’s go, Stark,” Clint says, already in stance.

“I love how keen you are to get your ass kicked. It’s kinda hot,” I say, smiling slyly.

“Shut up and fight me,” he says.

He does better this time. He actually gets me to the floor, but not for long. I come back strong and he hits the mat again. Shaking his head, he asks to spar with Steve for a bit. I take on Bucky with pleasure.

Bucky keeps me on my toes. Talk about a worthy opponent. I am practically winded and that’s just from staying on my feet. Neither of us have landed any heavy blows yet. He seems to notice that, too, and brings his fist down, heavily, towards my head. I block him and shove back. Then, I double kick him in the stomach and roll away. He’s not down long. He tries to uppercut me, but I move out of the way – only for him to knock my legs clean out from under me and press me to the ground with his foot.

“Had enough?” he asks, cockily, his chin-length dark hair in his face.

Breathing heavily, I pant, “Just about.”

Next to me, Steve hits the mat, utterly stunned.

“SEE! THAT’S HOW IT GOES WHEN YOU DON’T CHEAT!” Barton yells from the other side of the mat’s length.

“I wasn’t cheating, Barton. Two fighting styles. Mine is just a little more lenient about what we allow, is all,” I say.

Bucky helps me to my feet. Pietro is standing at the bottom of the steps leading up to the raised platform we were sparring on. He looks sweaty, but not tired. As I head down the steps, he asks me if I do any parkour. I clap him on the back and tell him to help me set up. I’ll show him ‘parkour’.

Things get very antigravity, then. By the time we finish, everyone’s gathered to watch us. Clint, Steve and Bucky look impressed, Wanda smiles lovingly at her brother and Nat’s looking at us like she thinks she could totally do what we just did. I don’t doubt it. Loki just looks disbelieving.

“Something the matter, gorgeous?” I call, deconstructing our course.

“Have you been practicing magic without me?” they call back.

I smirk to myself.

We all shower up, then. The day is long and beautiful and staying indoors all day would be a crime. Jarvis has the grounds staff get the pool area ready. When the doors open, my now second favorite smell wafts in – salty summer air. Second favorite, because Loki smells like sage and wood smoke and lavender and nothing relaxes me more than that smell when we sleep in each other’s arms.

God, I’m getting soft.

The two girls come out looking like summer spread models: Wanda in a violently red bikini and Natasha in a one-piece that makes her look like a 50s pinup girl. Clint, Steve and Bucky all come out in swim trunks, Steve’s this soft mint green. I do so enjoy his gaying up the place, which is hilarious, because as far as I know he’s bi. It’s Buck Cobain who’s gay. Pietro joins the swim trunks brigade, but with a shirt. Bruce is not wearing swim trunks, as usual. Instead, he’s wearing these ratty jean shorts he’s had forever, his favorite black Vans and a grey tank top, and carrying his music rig. Even Jarvis dressed down for the occasion, coming out in a pair of white chino shorts and a thin white button down and no shoes. Loki surprises everyone by coming out in black shorts and a black shirt that’s sheer in the front and solid in the back. I opted for leaving out a shirt, too, and head out in shredded camo shorts and sneakers, my favorite seashell anklet around my right ankle and my favorite summer bracelets enough to make me feel entirely dressed.

They all stand around while the staff finish up the last of the preparations. When they uncover the pool, I smile like an idiot.

“Listen, I’m no American, but I am sure it is customary even here to have water in the pool, no?” says Wanda.

“You’d think,” I say. “The water comes when my parents get here, which is something I should’ve told you all. They’ll be here sometime around August. However, we do have a very fine stretch of beach for you all to enjoy.”

Bruce’s music starts up and I immediately feel the hypnotic urge to move to it.

“Then, what is the point of opening the pool?” Clint asks, frowning at it.

“Sir,” Jarvis says, holding it out to me.

“The sickest bowl in all of Malibu,” I say, slapping my skateboard on the ground and heading in.

“Oh, shit!” says Bucky.

Jarvis doles out some of the spare boards we have and pretty soon almost everyone is having a riot of a time. Only Wanda and Loki, and Bruce behind his rig, are on the side: she’s sunbathing and they’re lounging under the umbrella with a book. Neither of them look too miffed. Jarvis goes over to them, probably to offer taking them down to the beach, but they both shake their heads and smile. So, he spans out next to them.

Natasha and Pietro are fucking amazing skaters. Like, crazy good. Some of the tricks Nat does, I have never even seen before. Pietro gets insane air, which isn’t much of a surprise after our parkour session earlier. I glance up at some point to see Wanda teaching Loki to dance to Banner’s music. I’m surprised they held out as long as they have.

When I call Banner’s music station a ‘rig’, I mean it quite metaphorically. A couple summers ago, he and I found a way to ‘hack’ the sound frequencies in music to add an element of hypnosis to them. You can’t help but dance to the music he plays from his station. It’s insane how well it works. He called it an ‘experiment’ for his future, now current, field of study: neuropsychiatry. We’ve done all sorts of crazy experiments over the years. I wouldn’t dream of taking anyone down into our lab here at the house, though. Just because it isn’t my space alone to share.

“Tony, does this house have any booze?” Bucky asks, whizzing by me on his board.

“The gold-ear boy drinks?” I reply.

“Steve likes beer,” he replies.

“ _The corncob princess drinks?_ ” I ask, fake-shocked.

“Yeah. He’ll also kick your ass if you keep calling him ‘princess’,” Steve says, giving me a look.

I smile, kick forward a couple times and go for a pool-side landing. I nail it and sit down on the edge, my legs dangling in. I notice Pietro talking heatedly with Wanda. He looks really pained by something, but Wanda is trying to soothe him. Loki says something, too, looking grim, but determined.

“Yeah, we got booze. Listen, what if we had a party tonight?” I say. “J, would you be up to it?”

“Do I need to ready the chopper, sir?” he asks, sitting up, the sun reflecting off his sunglasses.

“Funny, buddy. Real funny,” I reply.

“I already have the infirmary ready,” adds Bruce, going to stand next to Jarvis.

“Fuck you _very much_ , Banner,” I say.

They both laugh.

“I take it these parties of yours are quite the ragers,” comments Steve.

“You could say that. Last year, Misha Barton came and passed out on my parents’ bed,” I recount.

“I remember that!” exclaims Bruce. “She couldn’t remember how she got there the next day, and you almost ended up incarcerated for abduction.”

“Don’t forget assault,” I put in, “for bringing her pancakes.”

“What, did she think you drugged her or something?” asks Bucky.

“Turns out she just really dislikes pancakes and thought I was trying to poison her,” I recall.

“Typical Hollywood divas,” drones Nat, who had put on denim shorts and sneakers with her swimsuit, to skate in. She’s sitting on the side of the pool, too, leaning back on her hands, trying to get as much of her skin as possible in the sun.

“A party sounds good,” says Pietro, pulling off his shirt.

Behind him, Loki does the same. My eyes widen, because there’s clearly something going on that I’m unaware of. When both of them come to stand at the edge of the pool, despite the distance, I see scars on Pietro’s chest. Just two, thin lines under his pecs. Deciding on the only tact I can think of, I opt for not saying anything.

Loki heads around the pool to me and sits down on the right, their leg pressed against mine. I make no move to put my arm around them or to look at their back again. They said they’d talk to me when they’re ready. I’m respecting that.

“I can send our grocery runners into town for some things, but you’d all need to make lists. Party usually starts at 6 PM ‘til around 6 AM,” I say.

Everyone agrees to this and starts discussing what they think we need. Pietro systematically moves away from where he’d found a seat next to Wanda and makes his way back into the pool to Barton, who engages him in a conversation about how much booze they could have before they’re officially set back for the new lacrosse season.

Everything about this to me feels simultaneously utterly familiar and brand new. I haven’t had anyone but Banner here ever. No one else who’s come has ever wanted to stay and just hang out. If I wasn’t wowing them with Howard’s money, they weren’t interested.

Loki takes my hand and asks me about sunscreen. I tell them I don’t think I have anything strong enough for skin as light as theirs, but they can ask Jarvis. They kiss my cheek and leave to do just that.

I sit where I am, basking in a glow I’m convinced is more from happiness than sunlight.

 

**Scene Three**

This is probably the biggest this party’s ever been. Like, ever. Nat and Barton invited some of their people, too; whoever they know in the area. Steve and Bucky also know quite a few people around here. All of them invited people of their own. Loki’d looked forlornly at their phone, wishing they could've invited Sif and the boys. I told them they were welcome to, but they probably wouldn’t get here until the party was long over. They nodded and put their phone away.

So far, our booze people have had to bring about three trucks full in total. There’ve been exactly five major fights, all of them with Nat, because some drunk, moron guy was hitting on Wanda. People hit on Nat, too, but Wanda didn’t fight them. She just threw her drink in their face and stalked off, Natasha en tow. The minor fights were plentiful, but our side usually won. Except for when Clint needed stitches after he tried to deck a guy for being a phobe to Pietro. Pietro had lightly taken over, taken the selfsame bottle shard that had given Barton his stitches and slashed a hole in the asshole’s shirt. He then told the guy to fuck off and be happy it wasn’t his stomach. So, I guess that was a win for our side, too, but not for Barton. A girl had taken Barton away to have his hand looked at and the two of them haven’t been seen since. Pietro had attracted the attention of someone whose gender I can’t make out. Probably enby, like Loki. They’ve been sitting around, talking all night, Pietro still without his shirt, but entirely at ease. Another little skirmish was when a girl called Steve the f-word. Bucky couldn’t hit her, but he could very eloquently explain what had gone down when her boyfriend showed up. When the boyfail also attempted to call them the f-word, Bucky had promptly KOed him instead. Direct action.

Bruce and Jarvis are having the time of their life, DJing for this crowd. I think J even crowd-surfed at some point. I’m not sure if it was intended or if he’d just fallen off Bruce’s platform and gone with it. Everyone is dancing like they can’t stop, which they probably can’t. I smell another of Banner’s little ‘experiments’. I just hope he stays up there and out of the throng. If _I_ have to bail _him_ out of jail, his life is over. Brian’ll come get him. I’ll never see him again. At his funeral, maybe.

“Tony?” Loki says near my ear, their voice a drunken whine. “It’s too looooouuuuuuddddd. Can we not just go to your room…and…and kiss, or something?”

 _Um,_ yes.

“Sure thing, gorgeous.”

Outside, the gang vocals part of Lorde’s _Perfect Places_ comes on and suddenly 2000 people (probably more) start singing along. Bruce loops it a couple times and then records it with his phone. He sees us watching and winks at me. I smile back and then turn, dragging Loki along. We’re almost to my room, when suddenly they pull me back and push me against a wall.

I simultaneously register their hands under my shirt and their mouth on my earlobe. Sensory overload and my knees give out. They press themself against me to keep me upright. Like I’m dragging my arms through water, I finally manage to get my hands on Loki’s bare hips, hooking my thumbs into the waistband of their jeans.

 _My jeans_ , I remind myself. Incredibly baggy on them, but only coming down to just above their ankles, and looking stiflingly sexy, riding so low on their hips.

Eventually, after what feels like ten painful years, their mouth finds mine. Our kissing is slow and hot and uncoordinated. I can’t breathe for all the heat between us right now, but I find myself not wanting to, unless I’m breathing in Loki. With their one hand, they push my chin up and start nibbling lightly along my jugular. My weakness. My limbs are water.

“Baby, my room is right here. Can’t we just get that far, so we can at least put a locked door in between us and prying eyes?” I ask, my mouth made of cotton and my tongue too heavy to move.

“Let them stare,” they growl, low and breathy.

Then, they’re pulling their shirt over their head and casting it aside. My shirt is pulled over my head and follows theirs. We kiss furiously, our bodies ebbing and flowing like the ocean inaudible over the din outside. I never have enough, never long enough, never intense enough, never, never, never.

Loki must feel the same way, because they reach down and pick me up to hike my legs around their hips. I didn’t know they’re this strong.

“Must be all the vodka Wanda and Natasha fed me,” they say like they’re reading my mind.

“They’re literally my favorite people aside from you right now,” I say, ghosting my mouth down their neck.

They gasp. Throwing caution to the wind, I sink my teeth into the skin where their shoulder starts. They slump over heavily, crushing our hips together.

“ _Aaaaaaahhhhhhh_ ,” they breathe near my ear.

I keep sucking on that skin, feeling where it comes apart in tiny places, them grinding into me. Never have I ever been so lost in another person. Their hair is spilling over me, so soft against my face. I want to bury myself in it. As it is, I finally tangle my hands in the silky curls.

“Loki,” I whisper, but they hear me.

“ _‘L∂v∂r…_ ” they breathe back.

We kiss again. I feel it now: how hard they are. How much I ache to do something about it, but not here and not like this. I kiss them, but move to be put down.

“ _Er noe galt?_ ” they ask, close their eyes and try again. “Something the matter?”

“You, beautiful, are incredibly drunk and I am not going to let you put yourself in this position. We’re going to our room now, okay? You’re going to have some water from the faucet. If you still want to get it on after that, I am totally game. But not here and not like this,” I say, looking them dead in the eye so they know I’m serious.

They nod heavily. I lead them the rest of the way down the hall. In my room, we find a guy and two girls butt-naked on the bed, the lights on and the windows wide open. They don’t even immediately stop when they see us, but Loki does put a hand over their eyes.

“I believe I will no longer require the water,” they say, coherently.

“Yeah, I ain’t feeling so buzzed anymore, either,” I respond.

I clap twice and the lights go off and then twice again, turning them back on. This gets the bad porno’s attention. They all stop mid-thrust, to look at us.

“You’re welcome to join us,” the one girl says, “Tony Stark.”

“And _you_ are welcome to get out,” I say, fake-politely.

They get up and start looking for their clothes. Loki and I wait by the wall until they all head for the door.

“Who’s your friend?” the same girl asks, eyeing Loki. “He looks yummy.”

Before I can respond, Loki lifts their hand, makes a flicking motion, and all three of them go flying out of the room. The door slams shut behind them. They rub tiredly over their eyes and lift their head to look at me.

“I have a headache,” they proclaim.

“Must be all that vodka Wanda and Natasha fed you,” I echo.

“They are literally my least favorite people aside from these right now,” they say, tilting their head at the door.

“I have aspirin in my bathroom cabinet. Turn on the bedside lamp and lie down,” I say and head straight for the bathroom.

When I come back, they look positively green and have wrapped themself in the covers. It’s not cold, so I reckon I made a good call in getting us in here before we went any further. Alcohol gives you courage you wouldn’t have otherwise, but too much (courage or alcohol) can sometimes lead to regrettable decisions. I am probably the king of alcohol-fueled regrets.

“You okay?” I ask quietly, mindful of their headache.

“Not particularly. I do not have Thor’s liver and threshold for intoxication,” they say as they sit up to take the painkillers.

After swallowing everything and lying back down, they open their eyes only a little to pin me with a serious look.

“Thank you, Tony. You have saved me from myself tonight,” they say.

Their arm comes out from under the bedding and reaches out to clasp our hands together.

“You save me every day,” I say, honestly.

“You make these bold proclamations, as if you were on the verge of death without me every day prior to our meeting,” they say, their eyes closed again.

 _That’s because I was_ , I want to say, _and Bruce had to save me, because I didn’t care enough to do it myself. I was on the verge of death without you every day before we met – because I wanted to be. I wanted to be dead._

“ _‘I sort of feel like I’m on drugs when I’m with you. Not that I do drugs. Unless you do drugs, in which case, I do drugs all the time’,_ ” I quote, smirking to myself.

“Scott Pilgrim vs. The World,” they say. “Steve’s favorite movie. I appreciate the sentiment, though. I feel the sa–”

The door bursts open and bangs off the wall behind it. Both our heads snap to it.

“Tony, you gotta come, fast. I can’t. I tried, but I can’t. Oh, God. It’s the end, I swear,” Bruce says, eyes wild in his head, shirt torn right across the front.

When he turns to leave, I see he’s missing a shoe.

 _I am setting whoever is responsible on fire and throwing them over the cliff’s edge_ , I decide, getting to my feet.

“Stay here,” I say over my shoulder.

Outside, the empty pool is on fire.

_On fire._

I’ll repeat it, just in case: ON. FIRE.

Trapped in the middle is Wanda and Natasha, making out like there’s no tomorrow – which, for them, there might not be. Off to the one side of the pool, there is a fight so big that I can’t even tell how many bodies there are. Jarvis is trying to keep everyone else away from it and the pool, Bruce is hyperventilating behind his platform and all the staff are standing in the crowd, frozen stiff with panic. As if on cue with the word, my heart begins to hammer in my chest, straight passing zero and hitting sixty from the get go.

I walk to Bruce’s platform, my vision tunneling.

_Get it the fuck together, Tony. Now is not the time. Your fucking house could burn down._

Fumbling, I finally manage to get a hand on the microphone and get it turned on. The feedback makes everyone stop and turn to me, hands frozen in shirtfronts, arms pulled back mid-punch, legs tangled and bent awkwardly. The whole thing would’ve been ridiculously cartoonish if I wasn’t having a panic attack.

“Everyone who is not currently living here, clear off – now. You wrecked my house, you set my pool on fire and I’m pretty sure you’re currently beating up my friends. So, get the fuck out, do not pass go, do not collect 200 dollars,” I manage, breathless and on the verge of losing consciousness.

No one moves. They all just keep standing, staring at me.

That’s when I hear it.

Police sirens.

Right about then, I black out.

 

“Tony?”

“No, Banner. It’s summer. We can sleep in during summer,” I grumble and turn over.

“Tony, the cops have questions,” he pushes.

I sit bolt upright.

“Is anyone dead?” I ask, immediately.

“No, but some of them have some reconstructive surgery ahead of them.”

“Anyone we know?”

“Nope. Pietro sprained a finger, punching out some guy ogling his sister, but other than that, everyone’s good. Something about MMA and the down season,” he recounts, frowning in recollection. His arms are crossed in front of his gaping shirt.

“Mr. Stark?” an unfamiliar voice says from behind me.

I turn to it, soberly.

“Officer?” I say, giving her my best smile.

“We just have a few questions about your, um…party,” she says, giving the place a furtive once-over.

“Anything to help,” I say.

I hope beyond hope Loki is sleeping off a hangover right now.

In the end, no one was arrested, but we weren’t allowed any more ragers for the rest of the summer. They reviewed our security footage and vowed to bill everyone responsible for any property damage. Some charm got the officer my number, so she’d communicate with me directly and not bother Howard or Maria with any of this.

The staff were all very apologetic, but I also couldn’t give them a hard time for my mistake. We all helped clean up. Even Barton and Pietro, with their busted hands, made no protest to cleaning. The sun was already up by the time we finished. I dropped to the floor, my feet in agony.

“Is Loki asleep?” Natasha asks, lying on her back, upside down on the couch behind me, her head on my shoulder.

“I put them to bed before breaking up the riot. All that vodka you fed them left them all at once.”

“Then, who’s that?” she asks, pointing to the rec room.

There, against the floor to ceiling window, sits a figure with long black hair, in suspiciously familiar jeans, seemingly crying.

Forgetting my feet, I get up and almost collapse again. I force myself to keep moving until I reach them and find that it is Loki.

“Beautiful?” I say.

They look up at me, their makeup having made black tracks down their face. Their hair is a mess, probably from crying. I drop to my haunches and pull them to me. With an almighty sob, the break down all over again, their face to my chest.

“What’s wrong? I want to help, but I can’t unless you tell me what happened,” I say, clinging to them fiercely.

“They’re coming for me, Tony,” they manage, almost too thickly for me to make out.

“Who is?”

“Odin and Frigga. They’re coming for me. They’re coming to kill me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this act was so great. I am so hype, y'all. I hope you love it. xx


	3. Act Three: I'm Just a Little Bit Caught in the Middle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW//
> 
> Transphobia  
> Acephobia  
> Abuse  
> Graphic violence  
> Blood  
> Emo

**Scene One**

After that downright bone-chilling declaration, things pretty much spiraled in a downwards fashion. Loki calmed down after about another hour of sobbing and retching. Wanda helped me get them back to bed and Bruce brought a sedative that he left in a syringe on the nightstand. Jarvis brought them some plain toast and a few spreads on a tray. They asked for herbal tea and so Wanda left to prepare it for them.

I tried to coax some kind of explanation out of them as they lay there, looking for all intents and purposes like a reheated corpse. But all I got was them staring hard at the ceiling and nothing else, until Wanda came back with their tea.

It’s been about a week and things have gone from bad to worse. Loki finally picked up smoking and has been chain-smoking a pack and a half a day, every day. On top of that, they’re near constantly drunk.

Speak of the devil.

They just came outside. As we watch, they TK their phone of their pocket and, with a flick of their wrist, rocket it into the pool, where it smashes to bits just shy of Bucky’s skateboard, causing the dude to jump out of the way and shred his forearms, hands and knees on the concrete. Loki doesn’t seem to notice this and just adjusts their sunglasses – that they live in now, because nicotine, weed and alcohol make for awful light-sensitivity – and goes back inside, leaving a billow of smoke in their wake.

“Tony, as great as it is to see our tightly wound, wicked witch of the north cutting a rug, I think it’s time you had a talk with them. This is getting out of control,” Steve says, helping Bucky to his feet.

“I mean, it’s just a few scratches. Bruce can have him fixed up in no time,” I try to mediate.

“Earlier today, they told me if I wasn’t clinging so tightly to Wanda’s skirts, I might have gotten laid at that party last week,” Pietro says.

We all – Steve, Bucky, Barton and I – stare at him, not really wanting to say what we’re all thinking; that there might be some truth to this.

“I’m ace. I don’t do sex. They know this,” he elaborates.

“Shit. Sorry, Speedy,” I say, immediately. “I didn’t know. Not an excuse, I know. Sorry, brother.”

“Woman up, dude,” Barton says, looking at me seriously.

I frown at him.

“ _Big Hero 6_ is a good, incredibly nuanced film about dealing with mental illness in a healthy and constructive way – and GoGo is the most badass character Disney’s ever had,” he says.

Steve and Bucky both make agreeably impressed faces.

“Truth,” Nat puts in, coming from inside with a tray of drinks. “This is just some of Wanda’s iced-tea. No booze, because I am not enabling Loki any further. Tony, you have to talk to them.”

“Jeeze, alright, fuck,” I say, throwing my hands up in surrender. “I’ll talk to them.”

“Talk to who about what?”

My stomach falls out my ass. I have to fight the urge to throw myself off the cliff. It’s pretty narrow going there for a minute, but eventually I just hold my breath a little and that keeps the sudden build of panic at a presently manageable level.

“Mr. Stark,” Steve says, vaulting himself out of the pool and pulling Bucky out gingerly. He wipes his hand on his shorts before holding it out. “A pleasure to finally meet you.”

“Anthony, who are all these people?” Howard asks, glaring Steve’s hand back down to his side. His eyes slide over everyone, his expression becoming more and more distasteful until he finally comes to a rest on me.

“These…” I start, but my mouth’s run dry. I try to wet it with my tongue, but it doesn’t help. So, I clear my throat and try again. “These are my friends from school.”

“Is that why your grades have been slipping? Because you’ve been out making friends, instead of studying like I break my back to pay for you to do?” he demands.

I want to tell him to get fucked. I want to walk up to him and punch him in the face until he’s at least half as scared of me as I am of him – until he hates me more than I’ve ever hated him. I want him at least to come close to understanding how he makes me feel.

“Breaks his back”? He hasn’t designed a single new weapon in five years. His factory makes everything for him. He doesn’t even do his own orders or bookkeeping. His fucking fat cat ass just sits in his high-rise office all day, drinking scotch and playing Candy Crush on his iPad Pro, while Maria runs around spending his money for him.

“Actually, I think I’m just a tiny bit smarter than your son, Mr. Stark,” Nat steps in, handing off her tray to Steve. “Natasha Romanov, but you can call me Nat.”  
She holds her hand out to him. After giving her a once-over I only saw because I know him, he takes her hand and shakes it.

“Romanov? You Russian? Your English is flawlessly American,” he notes.

“Thank you, sir. I’m a quick study, plus my brother’s from Iowa,” she says. She turns and makes eye-contact with Barton, who’s sitting at the bottom of the pool, shirtless. He gets to his feet quickly, smiling his dorky, endearing smile, and Nat turns back to Howard. “That’s him: Clint Barton.”

“How is he your brother? You’re clearly not biologically related. You’re way better looking,” Howard gives his version of a compliment, which, naturally, has to contain some sort of jibe at someone else.

“Funny, sir. I always had to overcompensate with the girls for fear of losing them to him. I happen to think he’s beautiful,” she volleys, picking up Howard’s slack.

He stares at her long and hard for a moment, probably working out if he heard right and she really just said she likes girls. Deciding he did, he loses all interest in her immediately.

“Anthony, we need to talk. Your mother is waiting in my office. You have ten minutes and then I want you front and center. You hear me, boy?” he says, finding me again.

“Yes, sir,” I say and nod once.

He then promptly turns and marches into the house.

“Real charming pops you got there, Tony,” Steve says, still standing with the tray in his hands.

I sigh.

“I don’t think that tea is iced anymore,” I say, getting to my feet.

As I walk to the sliding glass doors, Loki almost walks into me, glaring over their shoulder at someone.

“Shit. Sorry,” they say, but then see it’s me. “Tony, is that your father?”

They would look so hot in their short-shorts, fine fishnets and crop-top, if they didn’t also look like Emily from _The Corpse Bride_.

“Yes. Was it the first impression you dreamed it would be?” I ask, unable to keep a hint of exasperation from my voice.

“Fuck no. He kicked me out of the house. Said he won’t have tramps fucking up his settee with cigarette ash,” they say, glaring back into the lounge.

“I can’t… I can’t do this right now. Loki, do yourself a favor and chuck the smoke, get into a shower and eat a decent meal. I’m about to be murdered by my father and I would very much like for you to look at least semi-presentable at my wake. Cool?” I say.

Instead of waiting for an answer, I push past them and head for Howard’s study. On my way, I find a tank top I think belongs to Wanda and slip it on. It looks painted on, but at least I’m not half-naked anymore. 

 

**Scene Two**

The study is probably the one room in the house that has not looked half-wrecked sometime during our first week here. Inside, I find Maria sitting in front of the desk, but with her back turned slightly to Howard, her apple-pie smile clipped on like his custom tie. Next to her, is a redhead girl with a slimy, charming smile that I recognize almost immediately.

“What, Barton too drunk to get it up, so you ratted us out to the parents?” I say to her, coming to stand between her and Maria.

Her smile both widens and tightens.

“Anthony, this is Ms. Virginia Potts, my new assistant, since you seem to have repossessed Jarvis,” Howard enlightens me. “She filled us in on your little soiree last week, which is why your mother and I are here early. Clearly, you and your friends cannot be left to your own devices. We’ve canceled our summerly trip to Hawaii to come keep an eye on you, for fear of you actually managing to burn the house down.”

“It wasn’t us. The fire was started b–”

“Look at me and tell me if I seem at all interested?” he cuts me off.

I say nothing else. I don’t even look at him. Maria reaches out to lay a hand on my arm. I know I can’t shrug it off without Howard losing his shit, so I just look away, at ‘Ms. Virginia Potts’ feet. No surprise, she’s wearing Louboutin. Probably a welcome-to-the-new-job gift from Howard. He treats all his (female) employees to little gifts like this. Jarvis got a vintage Porsche after ten years of service to the family. Howard’s secretary got a $1000 Victoria’s Secret allowance for Christmas during her first year – she was hired that same year in July – on top of a year-end bonus. He likes believing it’s him fighting gender inequality in the workplace.

 _I see your social justice warrior,_ Dad.

We’ll just pretend those pics of Cassandra in her Christmas presents aren’t saved to your phone.

“Darling, is the tall woman with the dreadful smoking habit also from your school?” Maria asks.

Before I can stop myself, I snort derisively.

“Something funny, Anthony?” Howard asks, glaring at me.

“Loki isn’t a woman. They’re a ‘they’. We are also, incidentally, together,” I say, my anger pushing me to shock-levels.

Howard shakes his head before sharing a look with Maria.

“And here I was thinking you could sink no lower than being outsmarted at your forte by a dyke,” he says.

“Clearly, she’d outsmart you, too, old man. Bruce – and Nat’s girlfriend, Wanda – can both tell you that sexual orientation plays no part in levels of intelligence,” I say, walking back towards the door.

“I’m not done with you!” he yells.

I hear someone gasp. Probably Ms. Potts. Maria’s long used to Howard’s live fuse.

“I’m not going anywhere. The only two chairs in the room are just presently occupied, and I’m not allowed on your leather couches,” I say, leaning myself against the doorframe.

“How long are these miscreants staying?” he asks, not looking at me anymore. I take it as a small victory. It isn’t always that I can wear him down like this. He must not have been looking forward to spending the holiday with Maria that much.

“All summer. They fly back to campus with me in the fall.”

He sighs, tiredly, his shoulders slumping forward.

“As long as they don’t…”

I’ll never get to know what exactly they don’t get to do. I don’t think even Howard’ll remember what he was going to say.

At that exact moment, an explosion rocks the entire house. The wall to the back of the room from the door explodes inward, throwing everyone to the floor. I run for Maria, because the Potts-woman falls behind the desk, but Maria’s wide open to the falling debris. Before I can take so much as a single step, something knocks me clean off my feet and everything goes dark.

 

It’s an out-of-body experience. It has to be. Nothing else explains how I know exactly what is going on, without being physically conscious for it.

“Steve, Bucky, I need you to bring him down to our lab. The infirmary is down there,” Bruce instructs. I see him, like I’m standing off at a distance, but I hold no corporeal form except for the one Steve and Bucky are now carrying.

“What about Nat? She’s the one in trouble,” Steve protests. “Can’t Pietro and Wanda bring him down. Bucky and I can fight.”

“Loki is with her. They’re an ace in the hole. I need you both down there with us to keep us safe if any of those fucks find us. Jarvis,” Bruce says, turning to the petrified, bewildered man, “I need you to go tell Natasha and everyone else to find a way down there. We can lock the nuclear blast door behind us. They shouldn’t be able to get down to us, not through that.”

Jarvis looks less put together than I’ve ever seen him – and I caught him in the act before. His eyes are wide, his hair is a mess, his shirt is torn to shreds and there are cuts and bruises all over him. His face seems to be stuck permanently in that expression of bewilderment.

“Jarvis!” Bruce yells.

Jarvis springs to action, dashing out of Howard’s study. I take a last sweeping glance around the room as we all move down the lab: everyone looks like hell, but they’re all conscious and okay – except for me. Something in me won’t allow me to look at myself too closely or for very long. We all move as fast as we can.

Out in the hall, the house looks like a warzone. Most of the picture frames are smashed to bits on the ground, the walls all have cracks in them, the floors all look like they’re going to give out any second and there is smoke and dust everywhere. Like, I can’t see two steps ahead of me, making this the slowest run for cover ever. But run, we do.

Steve and Bucky duck and dive near-expertly, with their lacrosse reflexes. Bruce is an excellent leader, which I put down to the years we spent playing Halo and Call of Duty and Battlefront together. Howard and Maria and the Potts-woman all look severely shell-shocked, but Howard looks the worst of all. I forgot about his PTSD. Well, that’s twenty-five years of medication and therapy down the drain.

No one talks about what happened, though. I figure they all must’ve put it together from Nat being the target that this is literally the KGB blowing up my house. The fucking KGB. I’d be pumped if I wasn’t the only one unconscious. This feels like a James Bond movie. Jarvis could be a hot Bond, if he wasn’t currently shitting himself.

Down on the first floor, we hear voices. They’re close. Bruce motions for all of us to freeze in front of a particularly thick cloud of dust and smoke. Looking to each of them in turn, I see Bucky holding his breath to keep from coughing. It’s quiet as a grave, apart from the voices.

_Not your best word choice, Tony._

_Why?_ I ask myself.

That same air of avoidance washes over me.

Bruce motions that we can move again. Two steps from the bottom of the stairs is the descending staircase leading to our lab. We go down it, if possible, even quieter than before. It opens up to a smaller den, containing the gaming system Bruce and I installed when we were eleven. Across from the stairs is a door that leads to a bathroom. We go there. Behind the bathroom door, is a seemingly ordinary stretch of wall. Bruce presses his hand to a specific spot and the layers of concrete and plaster and wooden skeleton, etc. attached to the ten-inch-thick nuclear blast door slides backwards and then to the left, revealing another staircase. He gestures for everyone to move down, saying he’ll wait another minute for Nat and the others.

As we descend, motion censors light up the stairway. Steve and Bucky and my parents move fast, headed straight for the infirmary area. They lay me down gently and Maria bends over me, obscuring most of my body from sight.

“Holy shit,” says Bucky, right as the rest join us.

Everyone follows suit and stares at the space around them, which, I admit, is pretty fucking impressive. It _is_ the accumulation of our life’s work. Hanging from the ceiling is a hover car we built when we were sixteen; all around us are vintage cars we restored to mint condition with all their original parts – some even built from scratch from old plans we managed to buy from manufactures all over the world; on worktables are other incredibly rad-looking devices that seem super impressive, even though none of them are finished.

Bruce grabs Wanda and Jarvis’ arms and dash over to me.

“Okay, I’m going to need some room and the help of anyone with even a slight history in medicine,” he says, strained, but calm. “Mr. Stark?”

Howard looks like he’s on the verge of collapse, clutching at his chest like his heart is about to come beating right out of it. Maria doesn’t know what to do for her husband and Ms. Potts looks like she’d very much appreciate being one of the cracks in the walls we saw on our way down here.

“Okay, Wanda, I need you to go to dispensary and see what you can find by of sedatives and relaxants and dole it out to those who need. Steve or Bucky, one of you solid dudes needs to come put pressure on this wound for me. Pietro, I need you to dash around the room and try and find my medical kit, I can’t remember where I put it. Jarvis, you’re assisting. Whoever doesn’t currently have a job, guards the door. Go,” Bruce calls orders, like he’s in the ER he used to volunteer in back in high school.

Everyone dashes. There’s a moment of hesitation when Steve and Bucky can’t agree on who should stay with me and who should go, but in the end Bucky stays. I haven’t been able to bear looking at Loki. Something about that insistent air of avoidance. I just know they also headed off to the door.

In our makeshift infirmary, which can really hold a candle to lots of internationally recognized hospitals, Bruce works as fast as he can, with Jarvis assisting like a professional. Off to the one side, Wanda has fed Ms. Potts and Maria some Rescue for shock, and has Howard knocked out on a bed, a spent syringe in her hand. She tosses it aside and comes over to me, to see if she can help with anything.

Turns out, she can. Bruce’s hands are too big to fit properly into the wound – that I still cannot see or even attempt to look at, so I’m playing it by ear – and so she has to stick her fingers inside. With an expression both on the verge of passing out and of grim determination, she rises to the task at hand.

Naturally, as luck would have it, the alarm sounds right then.

“What is that?” she demands, yanking her hand out.

“You need to get in there, Wanda. Now. It’s just the alarm telling us they’re in the den. They can’t find us unless they know exactly where to look,” Bruce says.

Chucking her plastic cup of water aside, Ms. Potts walks over purposefully and calls, “Is everyone at the door still okay?”

They all show they are. She pulls out her phone, but realizes almost immediately that there is no cell service down here. Plus, the blast from the KGB took out the Wi-Fi. She heads to Bruce and taps him on the shoulder.

“Sorry, Ma’am, but we’re in the middle of a very important operation here,” Bruce says, waving a bloody, latex-gloved hand at her dismissively.

“I just want to know if you have some sort of satellite communications system down here,” she says, efficiently.

He turns to face her, his mouth slack. His eyes search her face, trying to spot bullshit. Finding none, he says, “Over on the work table along this wall. The passkey is 62157819.” He points to the wall on his left, behind the operating table I’m on. 

She nods and heads there immediately.

In the meantime, Wanda managed what Bruce asked and they’re currently cleaning out the wound with sterilization fluid and gauze. Finally, Bruce asks that Wanda and Jarvis keep the wound iced. He hurries over to our worktable of unfinished projects. Ms. Potts finishes with the communications system and heads back over to me to help with the icing.

I see what Banner carries over to me, but it doesn’t make any sense. I want to ask him what he needs that for, but no sound comes out of my mouth. As he sets it down on the floor, Loki makes an appearance.

They put their hand over my eyes and close theirs. A second later, their head snaps over to me – but not the me on the operating table. They’re seeing the other me – my astral form, or some shit. I remember them explaining this to me months ago, but I was too focused on them in their witch’s clothes to pay much attention.

“Tony?” they say, pulling their hand back slowly.

Everyone looks up and to where they’re looking.

“Loki, there is no one there,” Wanda says, a tremor in her voice, her eyes glued to Loki’s emotion-stricken face.

“He’s there. Tell them you’re here,” they demand, moving to stand at the foot of the table.

“I’m here,” I can suddenly say, but it’s my voice coming out of their mouth.

Everyone freezes in fear. Bucky backs away subconsciously. Even I take a step or two back, and I’M the ghost.

Ghost.

Is that what I am? Is that why I haven’t been able to look at myself? Because I’m dying? Am I going to die?

“No,” they say, like they’re in my head – which, I guess, they are. “You do not have to. You can choose to stay, but then you must hold on. No matter how strong that current becomes, you cannot let it take you – or you will be lost forever, floating somewhere through time and space.”

“Loki, can you stop that? You’re really starting to freak me out,” Bruce stops what he’s doing to say, looking from them to where he thinks Loki sees me. He’s a little off, but just a little.

“Time and space doesn’t sound so bad,” I find myself saying. “It has to be better than this.”

“Better than me?” they counter. “After everything we’ve been through – after we finally found each other – after I came back to you… time and space sound better?”

I feel it, then: the current they mentioned. It does feel like time and space and it feels so easy and peaceful and good to let go. I just have to float. I want to float.

“Tony, please,” they say.

Tears are running down their face and blood from their nose, but they seem unaware. Their eyes never leave me, both pleading with me to stay with everything inside them. The power of the river in flood and the avalanche on speed compel me. The current doesn’t seem so strong anymore.

“Stay? Stay with me? I cannot lose you now – I’ve only just loved you. Please, stay?” they beg, their voice growing faint with emotion.

“I love you, too – more than life,” I say.

“Bruce, whatever you are doing, do it faster. I cannot keep him here much longer. I barely possess the sight – this compulsion is killing me, too,” they cry out, falling to their knees.

“Loki?” I say, running for them.

They spit blood onto the ground, which I first think is because the stream from their nose ran into their mouth, but when they look up at me, breathing heavily, I see that it’s actually pushing up their throat.

“Loki, no. Stop it. Let go of me. Don’t kill yourself for me,” I say, trying to grab hold of them to keep them upright, but I’m not on their fucking plane of existence, or whatever the fuck.

“Done! Loki, I’m done. Let go and come help me,” Banner calls.

I feel when they let go. I feel, because suddenly the current is overwhelming. I’m being pulled up. Morbidly, I recall that scene in _Charlie and the Chocolate Factory_ where Willy Wonka says he’s always wanted to press this button – ‘Up and Out’!

Well, I’m not ready for my TARDIS ride, and the Doctor can eat shit if they think I’m leaving Loki behind.

I focus with every last bit of strength in me. I feel the table underneath me, the lukewarm steel and the hard headrest. I become aware of an immense pressure in my chest, but I focus on feeling that, too. I focus on hearing the breaths of everyone around my table. I focus hard enough to feel the tremor go through the lab as those KGB fucks actively try to nuke the nuclear blast resistant door. I hear Natasha swear loudly in Russian.

“Okay, it’s started up. It’s rudimentary, but Tony can fine-tune it himself when he wakes up. Now, we need to wake him up. We can’t transport him out of here like this,” Bruce says.

Blood still spilling out of their nose and mouth down their front, and on the very edge of consciousness themself, they put their hand back over my eyes. I feel myself rematerialize.

“Angel, you have to come back now. You have to come b-back to me-e,” they say, swaying violently on their feet.

Bucky grabs hold of them to keep them upright. They lean heavily on him.

“Can’t you take some of my energy or something?” he asks, fear and sweat all over his face.

“I d-don’t know how,” they say, their eyes closing.

“TONY, YOU SMUG SONOFABITCH, _COME BACK_!” Wanda cries, jamming a needle into my chest.

I hadn’t noticed she’d left, but I do notice the sting – and then the zing as my veins catch fire.

“What’d you dose him with?” Bruce wants to know, a horrified expression his face.

“ _Sweet baby Jesus!_ ” I cry, sitting up on the table. “That’s adrenalin.”

Wanda pulls up her shoulders in a ‘what was I supposed to do?’ way. Bruce looks from her to me and then reaches out and slaps me through the face.

“WILL YOU EVER STOP ALMOST DYING?” he screams.

“MR. STARK!” Jarvis cries and throws his arms around me.

There’s a sharp pain in my chest.

“FUCK me up. What is that?” I ask, and Jarvis jumps off me.

“Language, Anthony,” Maria says, from just outside my circle of loved ones.

“Hey!” I oppose. “Wanda called you a bitch.”  
“She’s not wrong,” Maria replies.

“I LOVE YOU, BITCH!” Nat yells from the door.

“I AIN’T EVER GONNA STOP LOVING YOU, BITCH!” Wanda yells back.

“Is this an electromagnet?” I ask Banner, prodding it lightly.

“It is. There’s shrapnel from the blast in your chest and neither Wanda nor I could reach it. The magnet keeps your bloodstream from carrying it to your heart and killing you,” he explains.

“Who’d have thought I’d miss being trapped on a cliff-face in a hurricane?” I say, smiling at him.

“The good old days,” he replies, smiling, too.

Another tremor shakes the house’s rapidly weakening foundation and Loki entirely collapses onto Bucky. He picks them up, cradling them in his arms, and says, “Well, I, for one, am glad you didn’t die. Now, can we please, for the love of sanity, get the fuck out of here?”

We scramble to get ready to leave. Jarvis packs two pints of every blood-type from our fridge, while Wanda makes sure we have what we need for a transfusion on the go. Bruce rushes to find the keys to his van, also parked down here, and tells everyone we’re leaving. Steve and Barton rush over to carry Howard to the van. Pietro dashes at speeds unknown to man to grab whatever we can use as a weapon, per Banner’s instruction. As we load Howard onto Nat, Wanda and Steve’s laps, Ms. Potts’ phone rings.

“No. There’s no cell service down here. This is Loki’s voodoo bullshit. That’s a demon,” Barton says, crazily.

“Virginia Potts?” she answers, calmly. “Yes, sir. We’re about to escape in a vintage Volkswagen van.” She dashes around and rambles off the license plate number. “It’s this slime green color, God bless it.”

“You know, it’s a pity about that Potts-woman,” grumbles Bruce, getting into the driver’s seat. “Last I saw her, she was trapped in a house about to collapse. I’ll sure miss her. Man, I miss her already…”

She hangs up and squishes into the front seat with Bruce and I. Barton, Pietro, Maria and Bucky are all squished into the middle seat, with Bucky still holding tightly to Loki. They aren’t moving, but when I look too panicked, Bucky takes their pulse and nods at me once.

That’ll have to do.

“We’ve been instructed to get clear of the building as fast as we can. Your father’s contact in the military said they’d take care of our home-invasion problem,” Ms. Potts says.

Banner guns the van out of there.

Outside, the sun is long gone and, so far outside city limits, the stars are self-luminous glitter in the sky. With the electromagnet in the center of my chest being hooked up to a loose car battery, currently between my feet, I can’t turn around. But I hear it; we all do. It’s not a very big bomb and it sure as fuck isn’t a nuke, but no one in that house is alive. Not anymore.

Summer feels abruptly over.

  
**Scene Three**

I wake up to the smell of cigarettes, coffee and cheap laundry detergent, all mixed together. It’s not a bad smell, and I’ve woken up in plenty of strange beds for it to be almost commonplace.

Almost.

I open my eyes and the first thing I see is Loki, looking down at me.

“Good morning, angel,” they say, blowing smoke at the ceiling. “Sleep well?”

“Mmmm,” I say, turning onto my side and pressing my face into their stomach. “You?”

“Some. Losing that much blood definitely took a toll. I have had three transfusions and then a sedative, though I’ve still been up for over an hour now, and it’s only 6 AM,” they recount.

When we’d gotten to the motel Howard’s military contact had pointed us to last night, the priority had been Loki. Bucky had carried them carefully to one of the lawn tables, where Wanda and Bruce and Jarvis had gotten a drip in them to begin the transfusion. When they came to, they’d vomited up a lot of blood and Bruce suspected internal damage. They’d said they were fine, though, and had passed out again while being pumped full of blood. I had been sent to bed under strict orders from Bruce. My surgery had been no light one, he’d said, and I needed the rest. Steve had made sure I was comfortable and had sat with me until I fell asleep. I don’t remember Loki coming in last night, but it’s still amazing to wake up with them here.

“You saved my life,” I say, suddenly.

“You save mine every day,” they respond, gazing down at me and running their long, slim fingers through my hair.

“I love you, beautiful,” I say and reach up to put my hand to their face.

“And I you, angel,” they respond, leaning into my touch.

I sit up, but the sudden change in position makes my head spin. I drop it into my hands for a minute, but the spinning doesn’t really stop. I feel like I’m going to throw up. A firm hand on my shoulder makes me look up. It’s Loki, stuffing a bucket into my hands. I retch into it, blood mixed with this awful black shit and some puss-y white stuff.

“Oh my god, is that battery discharge?” I say into the bucket.

“Bruce mentioned there might be some light poisoning. He never went to bed last night, but instead left to gather supplies. The two of you will have to construct a better version of your magnet,” Loki says, while brushing the wet hair off my forehead.

“How are you holding up?” I ask them, getting rid of the bucket.

I follow the cable protruding from my chest and find the battery under the covers. Moving it carefully, I manage to turn myself to sit next to Loki against the bed’s headboard.

“Physically, I am absolutely fine. Tired, but fine. Emotionally, I can feel them growing closer. Once Odin has a notion, it is near-impossible to dissuade him. He feels I have done the family a huge dishonor by taking off to America with you, and now he is coming to…” they swallow, “to retrieve me…”

They take a drag of their cigarette, but I realize it’s not a cigarette. It’s a joint. I try not to laugh.

“Not to add insult to injury here, gorgeous, but you said they’re coming to kill you. Now, I know we as teenagers use that phrase quite liberally, but you looked terrified out of your mind – and then you went on a weeklong bender. So, throw me a bone? What has you so worked up?” I ask, trying to infuse as much sincerity into my request as possible.

They nod, resigned. Moving away from me, they put the joint out and leave it in the ashtray on the nightstand. Then, they start unbuttoning their shirt. It drops to the floor. Then they unbutton their pants and drop them, too. Finally, they lift their hair and tie it up into a high bun with the hair tie around their wrist. They take a deep breath and then turn around.

It’s worse than I thought I saw. So much worse. Jagged lines crisscross over their back and neck and thighs. In some places, they have bruises that seem only a week or two old, but that’s probably because the skin there has been damaged so many times that it petrified the discoloration. As they turn back, and their back catches some of the early morning light through the window, I see that what I thought was unmarked skin, are just old scars so white that they blend in with Loki’s naturally marblelike pallor. They redress, not looking at me.

It’s only when they sit back down, legs down the length of the bed and back against the headboard, that I pull them to me and kiss the living daylights out of them. Their mouth comes down hard on mine and I suddenly forget the electromagnet in my chest and the lead in my blood, and I pull them on top of me.

We kiss like we’re trying to make all the pain inside ourselves undone. I feel like I’m holding them together and I feel held together by them. My hands run down the length of their back, feeling every mountain ridge and every canyon, every smooth river of scar tissue and every icy fissure of badly healed bone. They moan against me, in a way they never have before. It’s like they want more – they’re letting me further than they ever dared let anyone.

“ _‘L∂v∂r,_ ” they sigh, pulling away to meet my eyes fiercely.

“What does that mean?”

“Lover. It means ‘lover’, and that’s what I want – with you. No more fear and no more lies and no more secrets,” they say, burning the truth of it all into me with their eyes like frigid waterfalls at the end of a long winter.

For the first time in my life, I’m at a loss for words. I remember the first – and only – time we had sex, and they asked me to be their boyfriend and I answered that I’d love that.

_“What, no witty remark?”_

_“I can’t think straight when I’m with you.”_

That has never been more true than right now.

“You know, there was something Steve and Bucky once said. We were walking together to get lunch with you all, and Bucky had just been benched for the rest of the season. He’d pushed himself too hard and the cartilage in his knees was inflamed to the point of permanent damage, unless he took the rest of the season off and took it a little easier at the gym. He was kinda broken up, because lacrosse was always something he and Steve did together. They’re co-captains, for fuck’s sake.” Loki chuckles at this, rolling off me and pulling me into their arms. I rest my head on their chest. “So, Bucky asked Steve if Steve’d still love him if he got saggy and fat and only cheered from the stands. Steve turned to him and said: “I’m with you…” and Bucky finished “…’til the end of line”. I’d never seen two people so in love in my life. The future for them isn’t scary or uncertain, because they know that the one constant in their lives will always be each other. What I’m trying to say, beautiful,” I conclude, “is that I’m with you ‘til the end of the line.” I tilt my head up to them.

The smile on their face is the happiest I’ve ever seen it. No more fears or reservations. Just happiness. Man, me too. So much that my electromagnet hurts from it.

There’s a knock at our door and then a call.

“Are you two decent? I need to talk to Tony,” Bruce says near the keyhole.

Loki gets up to unlock for him. He comes in with a mobile worktable covered in supplies, tools, Starbucks and Dunkin Donuts.

“When we get married, we have to adopt Bruce,” I say to Loki, mouth watering for the donuts.

“I mean, I was under no false impressions about parenting your illegitimate child, Tony,” Loki responds.

“Funny, I always saw you as the bastard kid,” Banner aims at me, doling out food.

“I can entirely get why,” I say, reasonably, “Dad.”

We eat for a moment in silence, savoring the sweet salvation found in overpriced coffee and over-processed pastries. Even Loki, who has next to no sweet tooth, scarfs down about three donuts before even looking at their coffee.

“Slow down, _American Horror Story_. You’ll make yourself sick,” Bruce warns. “By the way, I have _serious_ questions about what you did last night with Tony’s ghost.”

“I will gladly answer them to the best of my ability. However, is Tony’s magnet not more pressing?”

“Yes! I have everything we used the last time to make that self-sustaining power source thing. What’d you call it?” he asks, closing his eyes and snapping his fingers at me.

“…Arc-reactor?”

“THAT. I figured, we could miniaturize it and use it to power your electromagnet. If we can make it strong enough, it might even better your situation and make the eventual removal of the shrapnel that much easier,” he says.

“I love you, Banner,” I say, after taking a hefty swig of my double red-eye.

“I guess I must have some kind of attachment to you, too, since I’ve been doing nothing but risking my ass for you for the entire time we’ve been friends,” he returns.

“How long has it been now? Ten years?” I say, getting up. My legs are a little wobbly, but the more I move them, the steadier they get.

“Exactly ten, yes. It’s officially old enough for middle school.”

The next three hours are a bit of blur, but there’s a lot of building and welding and people coming in and out of our room and then Nat fights Banner for the keys to his van and they all leave to go shopping. Bruce and I work away, towards a deadline neither of us wants to think about.

Finally, we’re done. Outside, the sun is shining directly into our room’s window. The gang come back and Wanda comes to stab me with syringe full of morphine. Once I feel sufficiently numb, Bruce yanks the magnet out of me and the real party starts. Steve, Bucky, Nat, Clint and Pietro pin me down, while Jarvis, Bruce and Wanda get the new magnet in me. I feel it attach and with a single clockwise turn, the arc-reactor glows to life. Immediately, it feels a thousand times better than the previous one. I breathe deeply and roll my shoulders, getting used to the new tech. Off to the side, Ms. Potts and Maria both look like they fell straight into a Star Trek fanfic with no idea what Star Trek is, nevermind the plot of the story. Howard is conspicuously absent, but I suspect he’s still sleeping off yesterday, which feels like a week by itself.

“How does it feel, buddy?” Bruce asks, eyes on the lit-up, white circle in my chest.

“Tons better than the previous one, no offence,” I say.

“None taken. It was born of necessity, but nowhere near a long-term fix,” he replies.

“It’s warm and light and it’s definitely working as well as we hoped. My chest doesn’t hurt or feel any pressure at all,” I continue.

“Way to not die, Tony,” Nat says.

“Way to not die, us,” I amend.

Murmurs of agreement.

“So, what exactly happens now?” Maria asks. She walks over with a change of clothes and a bag of toiletries. Unceremoniously, she stuffs it into my hands.

“Pepper, any news from Mr. Stark’s military contact?” asks Barton.

We all look from Ms. Potts to him, frowning.

“Just a…nickname I gave her,” he says, the tips of his years burning red.

“Pepper. I like it,” I say. “Suits you, ‘Ms. Virginia Potts’.”

She wrinkles her nose, but doesn’t protest the name.

“He told us to stay put and await further instructions. It sounds like they think the team sent to retrieve Ms. Romanov yesterday isn’t the only one here. I, personally, feel like a sitting duck. So, I’m going to call him back soon to ask if we can’t be moved to some sort of safe house or facility,” she says.

“Listen, is this just a little too much for anyone else?” Pietro asks, sinking onto the bed.

Loki sits down next to him and puts their arm around his shoulders. He drops his head to their chest.

“Look, what if I just gave myself over to them?” Natasha says.

Bruce tosses a socket wrench across the room, smashing a lamp. Then, he’s on her.

“You listen to me, Romanov, and you listen good,” he spits into her face. Wanda tries to intervene, but Nat pushes Wanda behind her. “I did not risk my own life, the life of my brother, for all intents and purposes, the lives of the only other friends I’ve ever had – AND smuggle you out of my bombed house – for you to walk right back and give yourself up. I don’t give a single fuck about your convictions. We are what you’ve got and we are where you’re staying. That clear, red?”

“Crystal, green,” she says with a smirk.

“Anyone else have any stupid ideas they’d like to share?” I ask the room at large.

No one speaks. No one even moves. Damn straight.

Wait.

Now I feel bad for Barton.

“I’ll go make that call now,” Pepper says, holding up her phone.

Barton leaves the room with her, which, I guess, safety in numbers, but those two better not be playing ‘hide the zucchini’.

Since we’re stuck here for a while, I decide I might as well get in some sleep while I still can. I voice this to Loki and suggest they do the same. Pietro asks if he can go get his mattress and join us in here.

“Oh, I’m sure Mom wouldn’t mind you sharing with us,” I say and wink at him.

He tells me to fuck off, but smiling, and leaves to get his shit.

Around us, everyone sort of settles down. By the time I’m out of the shower, Maria’s left, presumably to check on Howard. Nat and Wanda are standing in each other’s arms in the corner, tears falling silently down Wanda’s cheeks. Jarvis still looks mildly shell-shocked, sitting on the edge of an armchair. Bucky and Steve are whispering together and Bruce is off in the corner opposite Nat and Wanda, checking his phone for something.

Slowly but surely, everyone filters out of our room, probably also going to get in some shut-eye before things start randomly exploding again. Pietro does come back to share with us and Banner isn’t planning on going anywhere. Pietro then offers to share his mattress with Bruce, to which Bruce distractedly agrees. Loki and I get comfortably intertwined and the moment I’m settled, I drop off.

 

I jerk awake, something having collided hard with the side of my face.

My eyes fly open, but my sight is blurry. I try to rub my eyes, but my arms are tied back. When my vision clears, I sit up a little straighter.

If anything, I recognize the format of the room from that day in the airport. The white walls hurt my eyes and so I close them slightly. My mouth tastes like ass, which is a less than happy reminder of my days getting black-out drunk and/or roofied. To my left, I see the two-way glass. In its reflection, I see him.

“Anthony Stark,” he says in a strong Russian accent. He walks around to face me, dressed all in black and quite a bit younger than I would’ve pictured. “Your choice is simple: you demand that your government let us take Natalia, or we kill your lover. If you oblige, we will grant you the same courtesy as Natalia: disappear forever together. Refuse,” he pauses, and the glass to my left becomes transparent. Through it, I see Loki chained to a wall, their nose broken, but their mouth turned up in a morbidly bloody smile, “and we break ribs next.”

“Is this all you’ve got? The impairment of old age finally reaching even the great Odin?” they goad.

Odin steps in front of the glass, then, brandishing a cane. Without a second’s hesitation, they swing and there’s a sick crunch as it hits Loki in their side. They don’t cry out, though. When Odin steps away, tears are streaming just as freely as blood down their face, but they’re still smiling.

“Things became very easy once we were contacted by Mr. Odinson. A high-profile man like him always has fail-safes in place to protect his reputation from too much harm. Even if that harm is just an unruly bastard child,” the KGB agent says. “I guess especially then.”

“Bullshit. Loki was adopted,” I say, my eyes glued to them, my neck twisted painfully.

“Good lord, boy, they told me you were intelligent. Why on earth would he go to so much trouble for a child he could just cut off and pretend didn’t exist, unless that child could, in some irrevocable way, be traced back to him?” the agent counters, coming to cut off my view of Loki and meeting my eyes.

“He’s insane. He’s beating his kid half to death in there,” I say. I crane my neck to see past him, but fruitlessly.

The KGB agent takes a small device out of his pocket and then hits a button on it. The next minute, they’re escorting Odin out of the room. Loki is breathing hard and they look like hell warmed up, but there’s still so much fight in them. They don’t look even halfway put down.

“Choose now: is Natalia coming home with us, or are we sending your love home to Daddy?” the agent presses.

All I can manage right then is to keep staring at Loki.

Loki.

Always and forever Loki.

_I’m with you ‘til the end of the line._

I take a deep, painful, shuddering breath and give him my answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHAT A FUCKING ZINGER


	4. Act Four: We All Need Heroes, Don't We?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW//
> 
> Violence  
> Abuse  
> Misgendering  
> Blood  
> Death (not any of the major characters)

**Scene One**

“Get fucked.”

“Excuse me?”

“ _Trakhat’sya_ ,” I suddenly recall what Nat taught me to yell at lacrosse games when the other team’s fans get too riled up. “More your speed?”

“You’re willing to let him die?” the agent cries, pointing to Loki. 

“I’m _willing_ ,” I say, emphasizing his word, “to bet that you’re underestimating me.” 

“Is that so?” his pallid face morphs into an amused expression. “How do you figure, Mr. Stark?”

I smirk at him, but say nothing. He looks at me expectantly another minute and then resumes his pacing, hands in his pockets. I use my time to inspect the cuffs he has me in. Turns out, they aren’t cuffs at all, but razor wire. If I attempt to break out of them, or move them too much for any reason, I slice my hands clean off. 

_Super_.

Who needs hands? Not me. No fucking way. 

Mr. KGB paces for another thirty seconds, then pulls the device from earlier back out of his pocket and hits the button again. The two-way glass becomes transparent once again. Through it, I see Odin walk back in. Loki looks tired, but resilient at the sight of their father. I notice now that they’re only wearing their jeans. No shoes, no shirt, no makeup. Only blood like war paint in wild streaks across their skin. 

“You’ve tested me enough, boy. Do you have no sense of self-preservation? No care for the protection of your friend, a woman?” Odin says in a voice more lethal than anything that’s happened to us thus far. I mean, I can’t speak for Loki. 

“She is more than capable of preserving herself. I do not fear you, Odin. Kill me if it will ease your conscience. I have nothing further for which to live: Tony is dead,” they respond, eyes downcast. 

“Why do they think I’m dead?” I ask Mr. KGB. 

“So they would not try to escape,” he answers. “Now, they will die for your insolence.”

“See, that’s where y’all screwed yourselves,” I say. “If you kill them, you have no more leverage. I’ll have no more reason to help you. You may as well kill me, then, too.”

He moves to press our noses together. Man, I hoped for this. I fucking prayed for this. I pull my legs up fast and kick out, hitting him square in the stomach. This also gives me enough momentum to get on my feet around the chair. While he gets air back into his lungs, I hop over my tied wrists. I feel the wire bite into my skin, but through the window Loki and Odin are frozen, staring at the glass, too. 

“Now, you can let me go, or I swear on my father’s life I’ll kill you. We can have a civil conversation around a table of some kind, but you are stopping this bullshit right the fuck now,” I say, reach up and give my electromagnet a small twist. 

The guy rushes me, ready to tackle me to the ground. I side-step him, grabbing the knife from his pocket as I go. I saw it when he came at me in the chair. In one swift move, I have the razor-wire cut and my hands free. Mr. KGB comes at me again, but I double-kick him in the chest again, tuck and roll. Back on my feet, I grab him and put him in a chokehold, his own knife to his throat. 

“I’ll be honest with you,” I say, shoving him to the door, “I’m fucking relieved this worked. I was convinced you were going to kill me.”

“Keep… talking… and… I just… might…” he chokes out. 

“Take your time,” I say. “But also: how do we unlock this door?”

The nondescript door in front of us has no handle and no lock and no hinges or mobile mechanisms of any kind. My good sense is telling me it’s some kind of biometrics, but what? 

As I ponder this, a huge scuffle breaks out just outside the door. Swinging around, I see Loki struggling against their shackles and Odin running out of sight, presumably towards a door. A bone-chilling scream makes my heart skip a beat. The electromagnet in my chest beeps feebly in warning. 

“ _BUCKY!_ ” 

Mr. KGB struggles against me and tries to shove back. In an initially thoughtless attempt to keep him restrained, I pull him back against me. It’s the choked gargling sound that tips me off. 

The knife clatters to the floor. He turns on me, but his hands are clasped around his own throat – blood gushing through his fingers. My eyes widen of their own volition and I stumble back. 

A gut-wrenching sound of twisting metal. 

Behind the slowly dying agent, the door – and a sizeable chunk of the surrounding wall – comes away like it’s been torn out. Through the hole steps Natasha and Bruce. She spies the dying guy, still choking on his own blood, and pulls him upright. With a quick, efficient motion, she snaps his neck and he drops like a marionette with its strings cut. 

“Yanovich,” she mutters like she knows him. 

“Tony, are you okay?” Banner asks, rushing over to me. 

In a totally un-Banner-like gesture of love and affection, he throws his arms around me. I cling to him like he’s all that’s keeping me tethered to sanity right now. 

“Tony?” he says, pulling back to search my face.

“He killed a guy, Green. He’s in shock. You’ll have to give him a minute,” Natasha says. “Tony, can you tell us where Loki is? We can go get them for you.”

Loki.

 

**Scene Two**

The moment I let go of Bruce, I go scattering all over the place. I feel like all of my atoms shoot in different directions. I become a ghost again and that current is doing its damnedest to drag me up and away. 

_“Up and Out.”_

_"All of time and space. Everywhere and anywhere. Every star that ever was. Where do you want to start?”_

“Tony!” someone calls behind me, but I can’t tell who. They aren’t real. The same way I’m not real. None of this is real. It can’t be. 

Being a free-floating part of time and space has its perks – like not needing directions. I find the room they’re keeping Loki in, no problem. Guarding the door are two more agents. They both come at me. I break bones, they break bones; I almost lose my nerve – they lose their lives. Quick, efficient – just like I saw Natasha do. I pull one of them over while I scan the control panel for a way to open Loki’s cell. Just thinking of them trapped in a fucking cell makes me want to kill these fucks all over again. 

_Who am I becoming?_

I’m still not finding any way to open these fucking doors. I could scream in frustration, but I have no voice. I didn’t last time, either. Loki had it – and I was only real because they willed me out of the current. I’m nothing without them – nothing and no one. I don’t know how to save them. I can’t do it alone. 

“Tony, let us help you,” a voice says so close behind me that I jump and drop the dead KGB agent. It’s Pietro. His eyes, identical to his sister’s, seem to broil, like the ocean the night the hurricane almost killed me on that cliff-face. “You don’t have to be alone, brother. Loki is our family, too.”

“I… I don’t know how to open these doors,” I say, weakly. All the energy just left me suddenly and I’m so tired, I could lose consciousness right where I stand. 

“I might be able to help you, but you’re going to have to help me,” Pietro says. 

I listen to him outline his plan. It’s super basic, but might actually work. I set up like he asked me and stand back. He makes room for a nice, long run-up. Before he sets off, Bruce walks up to him. He reaches down between them for Pietro’s hand. Bruce says something to him, at which he nods seriously. Then, he’s off. Never have I ever seen another human-being move as fast as Pietro does. His feet barely touch the ground. One minute, he’s far away enough to be small enough to fit entirely on the tip of my finger – the next, almost one blink later, he’s crashing into one of the dead agents, propped against the door of Loki’s cell. The door gives way with crack. 

The first thing I see when he steps out of the way, shoving the corpse off him, is Odin staring at us, mouth hanging open, completely nonplussed. 

I rush to Loki, who shares Odin’s shock. 

“They told me you were dead. Tony, you aren’t dead,” they say, frowning and shaking their head ever so slightly in complete and utter confusion. 

I say nothing. I need a way to break these chains. Distantly, my mind finally catches up with just how unsophisticated the KGB’s tech, interrogation methods and holding equipment are. It’s 2017, after all, and they’re one of the leading innovators in modern civilization. I pull with all my strength at the chains. I feel them budge a little, but not nearly enough. 

“Move over, buddy. This’ll take us both,” Steve says, walking straight past Odin like he doesn’t exist. Though, Pietro is keeping an eye on him, arms crossed in front of his chest. His shoulders, muscled from running and wielding a lacrosse stick simultaneously, bulge threateningly as he looms his tall, wiry self over the short, heavyset, white-bearded man. 

Steve takes the one end of the chains, linked to the cuff around Loki’s left wrist, and I take the other end and then we pull with all we’ve got. It takes several minutes of pulling the chain as taut as we can before realizing we aren’t enough, either. That’s when Natasha makes an appearance. She instructs us to pull the chain taut as we can again. With a small run-up, she jumps and kicks out at it with both her combat-booted feet. It shatters, as she backflips away in a perfect arc and sticks the landing flawlessly. 

This is why Russia got the gold at the Olympics the years she went. She even has the audacity to make it look easy. Douche-bag. 

I help Loki to their feet. As weak and beaten down as they look, they don’t look unsteady. Their broken nose has since started mending itself, but by the sounds of their breathing will definitely need to be rebroken and set properly. I reach for their face, but they turn their head away, finding Odin instead. 

He meets Loki’s eyes fearfully. Every single regret he’s ever had is on his face now, but Loki is first and foremost. The fucked up part is, it’s still not the cruelty he’s regretting. No, it’s ever making Loki a part of his life in the first place. The anger I’ve barely been suppressing since I came to in this godforsaken place flares up so violently that I literally see nothing but red for a moment. I move to hit up Odin, but Loki steps out in front of me and heads straight for him. 

I can’t see past them for a minute, but I hear it. Odin hits the ground on his knees. Loki stands back, breathing hard, cracking the knuckles of the fist they still have outstretched, and looking absolutely terrifying. 

This is it, I realize. 

The avalanche. 

It’s unstoppable now and it’s going to bury every inch of the town Odin raised Loki in. 

 

**Scene Three**

“Stop! Loki, please, stop?” Odin begs. Suddenly, he’s an old man: pale and grey and sickly-looking. 

“What am I?” they ask, their voice taking on that same lethal edge Odin’s had earlier. 

“You are my child. The one I chose to save – out of love and paternal instinct–”

“What more than that?” they press, just as quiet, just as deadly. 

“You are…my offspring. My child. My blood runs through your veins,” Odin says, his voice so small and frail. 

“Your child?”

“Yes.”

“Why did you keep me?” Loki asks. With their foot, they push Odin off his knees and back to sit on the floor. He looks up at them with unfocused, but fearful eyes. 

“You were an innocent child. You needn’t have paid for my weaknesses,” he responds, a hand clutching at his heart. 

I move closer inconspicuously and notice the fine film of sweat covering Odin’s face. He looks pained and his breathing is very fast and very shallow. 

“No,” Loki retaliates, a hint of desperation coloring their voice now. “You took me for a purpose. What was it?”

Odin doesn’t answer. He looks like he’s at death’s door, his breathing so shallow it’s almost nonexistent. Loki walks up to him and kneels. They press a hand to the hand Odin has pressed over his heart. Odin takes a great, big breath, but his coloring doesn’t change. He seems to breathe more easily, but it doesn’t look like it’ll last. He’s going to need a sedative soon or he’ll have a heart-attack. Loki doesn’t seem at all fazed. 

“ _TELL ME!_ ” they suddenly scream at Odin, making everyone in the room jump, including me and Odin. 

“I hoped to win her back someday,” Odin says in a rush. Loki’s eyes burn into him, the avalanche picking up momentum until the force it has is breathtaking. Nothing and no one can stop it now. Loki is unreachable. “I fell in love with her – your mother. She was the epitome of a woman with an insatiable curiosity about the things outside of her frame of reference. I was a poor boy from a small town with no family and no prospects, other than my dreams. She showed up on my doorstep one evening with you wrapped in a bundle of blankets, demanding I take the mess I had created for her off her hands. She will pay me, she promised, to raise you and give you the life you deserve. So long as she can never be traced back to you ever again. 

“I jumped at the chance: finally, a piece of her I can keep. I did not know the first thing about being a father. I lived in a room I rented from an innkeeper in exchange for maintenance work I did for him. The money she sent us helped considerably. I was able to get my life on track the way I always dreamed. Eventually, I no longer required her monthly payments. She got wind of this and stopped making them. Distraught, I begged her to stay. You are her child, as well. A child deserves to know its father and its mother. Has she no love for you? 

“‘No,’ she’d answered. Nor for me, she’d added. I was nothing but a drunken mistake that she wished she had never made. My poverty and incapability to provide for myself disgusted her. I was lacking in every way a man should never lack and even my present prosperity was built on someone else’s good will, through no hard work of my own. I was stuck with you. Stuck with you with no way of being shot of you, for fear of undoing my reputation the way you would have undone hers. To this day, I resent her and the time and energy and love I wasted on her. Most of all, I resent you, Loki. My never-ending reminder of a mistake I can never take back, of all my lacking, of my deepest disgraces.”

“…I am older than Thor?” they ask, dazed.

“By four years,” Odin answers, emotionlessly. “But it no longer matters. Thor is dead.”

“ _BECAUSE YOU KILLED HIM!_ YOU AND HIS OWN MOTHER, THAT YOU HAVE SO BRAINWASHED SHE CANNOT TELL THE SKY FROM THE OCEAN WITHOUT YOUR AID! YOUR INSECURE SELF-OBSESSION _COST US OUR LIVES_. YOU COULD HAVE TOLD ME WHAT I WAS FROM THE BEGINNING! W-why didn’t you?” their voice cracks.

I know now is not the time to intervene. They need to have this conversation. They need this closure. 

“You were a child. It was not your burden to bear,” Odin breathes. 

“When I was older, then! When I so clearly inherited your knack for smooth-talk and getting my way. You knew the darkness that festered in you and you _KNEW IT FESTERED IN ME, AS WELL!_ BUT YOU MADE ME LACK THE SAME WAY YOU DO, JUST SO YOU COULD HAVE SOMETHING TO PUNISH FOR YOUR OWN UNGRATEFULNESS!”

Odin’s eyes slide shut. His breathing is once again bordering on invisible.

Loki rises up from their haunches and heads for the door. Bruce holds out a syringe to them and they nod as they pass him. He hurries over to Odin and jams the needle into Odin’s jugular. As Odin’s breathing evens out, he loses consciousness.


	5. Act Five: Well, Rest Assured, There's Not a Single Person Here Who's Worthy

**Scene One**

Nineteen years ago, a little girl with hair the deepest shade of crimson was born, with eyes the color of daisy stems and freckles like constellations on her skin, pale as a supernova. Her mother was nothing of the sort to her. She served as an incubator and nothing more. Her father is a faceless code on a vial in a sperm bank – or an incredibly talented, Italian geneticist, though the geneticist is a woman. The little girl’s eyes first opened to a room with walls the color of her hair, and she did not cry.

Natalia Alianovna Romanova. From nothing and nowhere but the Red Room and sheer tenacity.

Calling her special was an understatement. She excelled in any task set before her. Academics, ballet, flirting, gymnastics – fighting, disappearing, thievery, murder. Her intelligence is unparalleled and her resilience impossible.

She walked and talked like a real girl, but, inside, she was hollow. She had no friends, no character forming experiences, no humanity. All she knew was violence and killing, pain and suffering, and it seemed that would be all she ever knew. She became disenchanted, then discontented, then miserable – until despair was all she had. Every death at her hands became a personal knock. Every target she had to get close to to infiltrate became a personal betrayal. Ordinary people with ordinary experiences, snuffed out by her. Every criticism of her became a punishment. Every imperfection was treated like high treason.

Natalia Alianovna Romanova let her despair become anger and her anger grow into steely determination. They trusted her – their biggest betrayer. That’d be their downfall. For a full year, she spent every free second gathering intel, ammunition, strength and freedom.

Her proposition to them was simple: “Let me go, and your secrets stay secret. Let me live, and I will pay you the same courtesy.”

“How can we trust you?”

“Trust my desperation,” she’d responded.

She reminds Loki of Thor now.

A month later, Natalia Alianovna Romanova had stepped into the halls of a high school for the first time. For the first time, she was genuinely afraid. None of her training had ever prepared her for this. None of her training had prepared her for the fierce protective instinct that kicked in when she saw a skinny, sandy-haired boy being knocked around in the hallway. Nothing prepared those kids for the shock they got when they yanked out the sandy-haired boy’s hearing aids.

That afternoon in detention, the boy had tapped her arm in the locker room they were meant to be cleaning. She’d met his eyes, fearful of what she might find there. He had smiled. So, she smiled, too.

“Hello,” she signed.

His grin had widened, lighting up her world forever.

“Hello!” he’d signed back. “My name is Clint Barton. What’s yours?”

She hesitated, but only a moment.

“Natasha Romanov. Do you want to be friends?”

“I’d love to.”

 

Natasha Romanov has become Natasha Barton. She has discarded her hair the color of the Red Room and her flowery eyes. She cut her striking mane shorter than it’s ever been, into an edgy, pixie style, chosen for her by Wanda. She traded her glasses for contacts that change the color of her eyes from pale green to hazel. These contacts, incidentally, also scramble the pixels of any camera pointed at her. Wanda says that as long as they’re always together, she doesn’t need a single photo of Natasha.

Natasha knows that as long she is always with Wanda and Clint and her new chosen family, the Red Room and its secrets will never come back to haunt her.

 

**Scene Two**

When Natasha’s name changed from Romanov to Barton, Loki’s officially changed from Odinson to Maximoff. Wanda insisted that her chosen sibling accept the big sign the universe gave them the day she came to their rescue in the registry line for sociology, and become a part of her two-person family. Pietro insisted and persisted until Loki finally agreed, with tears in their eyes. To clarify, they were tears of laughter, because Pietro had taken it upon himself to wear Loki’s clothes and makeup and pretend to be them to prove how well they’d fit in. Just like his sister, Pietro has an affinity for black – which is something Bruce also seemed to notice.

Odin is never allowed near Loki ever again. In fact, Loki was not even allowed to return to Norway to move out of Odin and Frigga’s house. Instead, Sif, Volstagg, Fandral and Hogun packed up Loki’s things for them and shipped the lot of it – and themselves – to the university. When Loki came home after their massive ordeal in America, they found themself entirely moved in, with Volstagg preparing a feast in the kitchen and Sif sitting in underwear and my Sex Pistols tank top on top of the hanging kitchen cupboards, using rudimentary telekinesis to steal bits and pieces of Volstagg’s meal off the counter when he had his back turned.

She let Loki comb the knots out of her wily, wood-nymph hair, dubbing them a mage when this occurs entirely pain- and discomfort-free. A single tear ran down their smiling face.

I found myself moved in, too: hence Sif in my shirt.

I’d had a long talk with Howard and Maria. The hostage situation and rescue mission had really shifted a few things into perspective for my parents. Howard was especially shocked by Odin’s treatment of Loki. He actually cried, asking me if I felt abused. I’d been honest with him and said I did. The long and the short of it is that he vowed to me, but especially to himself, that he would not become Odin. He’s been paying me back for the years of childhood trauma ever since. For one, he bought Odin’s shares at the university unceremoniously and then his on-campus penthouse for good measure. This is, naturally, where we now live together. Wanda and Pietro’s section of the student housing is only so big, and Banner already lives in their spare room.

I’m sitting in my new workshop (Loki’s old bedroom), working on designs for an upgrade to my electromagnet. It’s been giving me palladium poisoning, but I can’t have the shrapnel removed just yet. It’s not pulled back far enough. So, I have to work on a better, less lethal version.

“Darling, have you seen my c–” Loki stops themself short, just inside the door. “There it is.”

They head over the work table and pick up their winter coat. There’s a faculty event this evening, to which they’ll go as Dr. Erik Selvig’s plus-one.

As of this semester, Wanda has once again taken up sewing and has been making Loki the most stunning outfits. Tonight, they’re wearing a simple black dress with a white church collar. When they turn, though, their entire back is open and their new tattoo is on stunning full display. They’d decided to pay homage to the forest they grew up in, that Thor loved, that they found a haven in and drew power from – and so they got the bare, winter-petrified branches of a pine tree tattooed across their entire back, using their old scars as texture. It covered the backs of their arms as well, here and there, and blended in with their hair in such a magical way. With the dress, they’re wearing sheer, lacy stockings and dress shoes. Their long hair, hanging down their back by now, is braided out of their face with braids close to their scalp, but loose and straight at the top and back. Their makeup is minimal, but striking as always.

I push my designs away immediately.

“Okay, so, I’m going to have to say something at this juncture,” I say. “Loki, you look so hot right now that I might just have to go take a cold shower.”

“In this weather? That seems an awful waste, don’t you think?” they say, setting their coat down again.

“Absolutely,” I say and pull them to me. “Care to help a guy out?”

“You know I cannot resist a lost cause, Stark,” they say and kiss me until my head spins.

I have my legs around their waist, my hands on their hips. I wasn’t wearing a shirt to begin with. So, when their fingers ghost from my hair, down my chest and stomach, to the waistband of my sweatpants, I shiver. We scramble to get closer to each other at the same time. I run fingers over the tattoo that Barton gave them, the branches forever risen just enough above the skin to be felt and not seen. It’s their turn to shiver, but they also kiss me harder. I gasp.

“What time do you have to be at the faculty thing?” I murmur against their lips.

“For heaven’s sake, just bang me already,” is their answer.

“Here in the workshop?”

“It’s about the only place we haven’t debauched.”

“High fucking time, if you ask me.”

“Agreed,” they say. They seem to decide something and continue with: “Actually…”

Then, my sweatpants are being pulled off and dumped somewhere at our feet. Admittedly, I also wasn’t wearing underwear. They hoist me up onto the counter and then pull the black ribbon they’re wearing around their waist as a belt, loose. I’m too busy dying at their hands on my bare thighs to notice immediately when they gather my hands in one of theirs and push it up to one of the cupboard handles. Next thing I know, I’m being tied up, butt-naked, with a black, satin ribbon.

“Loki…”

“Or you could say something more useful,” they say – and promptly take in my entire dick down to the base.

“ _F-fuck_ ,” I stutter, my breath catching in my throat.

“Like that,” they pull off to say, before going down on me again.

I should explain that this isn’t something that happens very often. I enjoy a blowjob as much as the next asshole, but I’m going at Loki’s pace with everything. It’s safer that way, because it means I can’t misstep by going too far. By now, I know they like their fucking seriously rough – which drives me crazy; they like it when I top, and they love it when I knot my fingers in their hair. Right now, I can’t really touch them, but, good God, are they touching me.

They suck viciously for a while, sending these wracks of pleasure through my body that send me through the stars. Right as I’m on the edge of catatonia, they swirl their tongue from the base to the tip and a filthy moan forces its way up my throat. Motherfuck, they’re good at this. They go back to the vicious sucking, their hair splayed out over their shoulders and reflecting flecks of light from my work lamp. It’s hard to tell where their hair ends and their tattoo begins. I ache to pull on it, to hear them moan the way they do when I hurt them just the way they like.

Somewhere, they’d pushed my legs apart. As they continue to destroy me, they reach up with their hand. I take in as many fingers as they give me, hoping to all sanity that they’re planning what I hope they’re planning. I revel at sucking their fingers until bruises ring each one around the base. They, in turn, pick up the pace and suck me off so hard, it takes every ounce of self-control I have not to come right then and there.

Finally, they take their hand back. I hardly have time to register, before they’re pushing into me. A cry rips itself from me. I feel them smile around me. Loki really goes for it, then. I lose track of what gets me off more and instead focus on not passing out. I want to come. They’re doing their damnedest to make that happen as hard as possible.

“Ah, _fuck_!” I scream as I blow my load – right down Loki’s throat.

They work me a little while longer, my entire body wracking with the orgasm. Right as I can’t take it anymore, they come up to kiss me. I literally come again a little when I taste myself in their mouth. I become aware that I can suddenly move my hands again and pull them against me.

“No, Tony. Wait,” they say, pull back suddenly and look at the front of their dress.

“Shit. Sorry,” I say. Thankfully, I didn’t get anything on it.

Distantly, the doorbell rings.

“That’ll be Selvig. Don’t wait up for me. Enjoy your cold shower,” they say, and, with a last kiss on the lips, sweep out of the room. They shut the door behind them as they go.

Was that my cue to ask them to marry me?

 

**Scene Three**

No. I haven’t forgotten about the corncob princess and his gold-ear boy. I’ve just been too busy grinning like an idiot at how two people like Banner and Pietro could find each other through everything.

They have, you know. Found each other, I mean. Banner never actually said it, but I’ve always suspected that the dating and sex things aren’t for him. He’s literally never shown interest in a single other person before, except me, but only to dad me into next century. With Pietro, though, they have the kind of easy rhythm that could only come from two people who want nothing from each other but each other.

For a while, the most we saw them do was hold hands. Banner isn’t the touchy-feely type, but Pietro is a big cuddler – and what Pietro wants, Bruce falls all over himself to give him. They graduated from that to hugging and holding each other around a month in, which Bruce actually seemed to like, but would never admit. Pietro’s favorite place is lying with his head against Bruce’s chest, watching him kill monsters in the games he’s always playing on his PS Portable. Finally, the big K arrived.

It’d been the first lacrosse game Pietro would be co-captaining. For reasons we’ll discuss in a bit, Steve and Bucky have stepped down as lacrosse captains and players and Steve appointed Barton as his successor. Barton, wanting the help, had begged Pietro to join him as captain and Pietro had agreed after some heavy bargaining. Anyway, Banner had insisted on waiting right outside the tunnel when the team came running out. He wanted to hand Pietro the kale smoothie he made him, which is another adorable characteristic of their relationship. Pietro jogged over to him, smiling his big, flashy smile as he always does when he sees Bruce, but before he could take it, Banner had grabbed his hand, pulled them together and kissed Pietro full on the mouth.

Pietro had looked so incredible dazed after that, it took him several seconds to realize Bruce was trying to hand him the smoothie. When he snapped out of it, he’d smiled bigger than we’d ever seen him, leaned forward and kissed Bruce back. Bruce came back to his seat looking like he could just about burst with happiness.

My OTP, y’all.

Steve and Bucky have had probably the worst time of us all – that notwithstanding the PTSD we were all being treated for. During the fight on the fake KGB’s airship – yes, a fucking airship, but from the stone-age – Bucky had lost his entire left arm. One of those Russian fucks had got him with the razor-wire. So, like with Nat’s contacts, Bruce and I set to work. The crowning achievement of our joined inventive genius is Bucky’s new arm: metallic, fluid, with lifelike capabilities of motion and with enough strength and resistance to stop a truck at full speed.

Steve had graduated last year, but after his stellar work at the actual KGB’s negotiations regarding Nat, Interpol offered him a job in international relations. Bucky, however, had started at the university, in the same course, a year after Steve. So, Steve decided to take a gap year and is now coaching the lacrosse team and tending to Bucky.

Not that Buck needs him. It took the legend exactly two months before he had the entire hang of his new prosthesis. After that, it took Steve exactly two days to lose his shit over Bucky going back to the gym. The arm could take the strain, but the rest of Bucky’s body, and Steve’s sanity, could not. Bucky’s gym routine has been cut back to far lighter exercise (some weights and light cardio), which means he stays fit, but lost a lot of muscle mass. Steve loves skinny Bucky, if possible, even more. I think watching your forever-boy’s arm get sliced off right in front of your eyes does that to a person. It makes you grateful in a way you could never be before. Bucky says Steve taught him that kind of gratitude while they were growing up. Steve thanks God for Bucky.

While Steve coaches the team, Bucky divides his time between his final year of studying and being team manager. I won’t say this too loud, for fear of Bucky’s ridiculously keen hearing to pick it up, but I have seen Steve looking at wedding rings.

Kids. They grow up so fast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking it out with me as far as you have. You make my heart smile. 
> 
> To come: 
> 
> 1) The Long Haul to the End of the Line - a Stucky (StevexBucky) fic  
> 2) Yours, Mine and Ours - a Scarlet Widow (WandaxNatasha) fic 
> 
> Both set in the same universe as the two FrostIron fic. I basically fell in love with my own ships and am giving them origin stories.


End file.
